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NON-RENEWABLE 

•\u, 

FEB'02J19! 

I     . 
DUE  2  WKS  FROM  DATE  RECEIVED 


THE  WIND  IN  THE  TREE 


.  OF  CALIF.   LIBRARY.  108 


Juwceness  of  tine  North  Wir£> 
-4  the  Ojitierness  of  ihe  E-asf  -  •• 
•the  hon«y&  brcaifc  ofthe  South. ' 

Sf  JuaS5^°5  ^^^  ^^^  -  in- ri-u?h   " 

all  the  xnn^s  of  The  world  blav  upon 
•the  tree  of  love  » 


THE    WIND 
IN  THE  TREE 

Seven     Love     Stories 

by 
Millicent    Sutherland 


WITH   A  FRONTISPIECE 
BY  WALTER    CRANE 


NEW    YORK 

R.   H.   RUSSELL 

MCMII 


Copyright,  1902,  by 
Robert  Howard  Russell 

All  rights  reserved 
Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London,  England 

Printed  in  the  United  States 


UNIVERSITY    PRESS      •    JOHN   WILSON 
AND     SON      •      CAMBRIDGE,     U.  S.  A. 


\HE  fierceness  of  the  North 
Wind  and  the  bitterness  of 
the  East ;  the  honeyed  breath 
of  the  South,  the  passion  of 
the  West;  in  truth  all  the 
'winds  of  the  'world  blow  upon  the  'Tree  of  Love. 


2133C98 


CONTENTS 

Page 

I  The  Fate  that  Follows  ....  j> 

//  Lady  Totos  Betrothing     .     .      .  j>/ 

///  The  Doubt 6l 

IV  "Till  Seventy  Times  Seven"  .     .  8j 

V  Mrs.  Leonid 7/5 

VI  The  Laureate 143 

VII  The  Great  God  Chance     .      .      .  183 


THE    FATE    THAT    FOLLOWS 

"  Gold  or  silver  every  day 

Dies  to  grey."  .  .  . 


THE    FATE    THAT    FOLLOWS 

the  air  of  a  November 
night  —  wet,  and  warm  as 
early  June  —  disconnected 
sounds  were  borne  hither 
and  thither,  gaining  impor- 
tance from  the  repose  of 
the  atmosphere.  A  fish- 
hawker  cried  his  wares;  a  chain  clanked  at  the 
pier-head ;  under  lately  moored  fishing  smacks 
the  water  sucked  and  gurgled ;  aboard  one  of 
these  a  belated  worker,  hampered  in  the  achieve- 
ment of  his  task,  uttered  impatient  oaths.  No 
moon  X°r  star  pierced  the  blackness,  but  here 
and  there  in  uncurtained  windows  a  lamp  burned 
feebly,  set  by  an  inmate  who,  without  thought  of 
the  community  at  large,  needed  for  a  time  an 
illumination. 

Within  the  doors  of  the  Milk  and  Mustard^ 
standing  beside  the  quay,  the  life  of  the  port  of 
Marke  was  more  truly  expressed.  Here  un- 
usual jollity  prevailed.  A  fishing  fleet  from 
Scotland,  following  herring,  had  anchored  for  a 
night  in  the  outer  harbour.  The  masters,  making 
all  fast,  and  inquisitive  as  to  the  ways  and  man- 
3 


THE    FATE    THAT    FOLLOWS 

ners  of  the  inhabitants,  had  landed  in  company 
to  explore ;  but  the  evening  was  unpropitious, 
the  tavern  inviting;  it  set  a  limit  to  their 
ambitions. 

The  hostility  of  south-coast  fishermen  to 
intruders  on  their  grounds  was  converted  by 
curiosity  into  hospitality.  Every  bench  and 
settle  in  the  Milk  and  Mustard  became  crowded  ; 
the  proprietor  began  a  roaring  trade. 

Below  the  public-house  and  its  five  worn  stone 
steps  ran  at  right  angles,  and  almost  to  the  edge 
of  the  sea,  a  row  of  dwellings ;  on  stormy  nights 
the  waves  would  scatter  their  spray  upon  the 
uneven  thresholds.  Old  these  houses  were  and 
lean-to ;  insanitary,  yet  fully  inhabited.  In 
respect  of  the  tenants,  the  town  of  Marke 
could  account  for  little.  They  were  nearly  all 
aliens,  striving,  it  was  hinted,  in  one  way  or 
another  to  atone  by  a  dismal  present  for  a  tumult- 
uous past.  The  "  Settlers'  Barracks,"  the  familiar 
name  for  the  row,  held  possibly  its  comedies  and 
its  tragedies,  but  they  were  out  of  line  with  the 
gossips  of  the  town ;  little  could  be  gathered 
concerning  them  in  the  market-place.  A  hearse, 

4 


THE    FATE    THAT    FOLLOWS 

or  the  cart  from  the  general  provision  store, 
called  as  necessity  required  at  one  or  other  of 
the  warped  green  doors,  otherwise  the  dwellers, 
man,  woman,  and  child,  lived  pretty  much  as 
they  pleased. 

To-night  the  majority  of  these,  being,  in  spite 
of  their  mystery,  of  no  uncommon  clay,  gazed  on 
the  crowded  harbour,  and,  catching  the  spirit  of 
excitement,  had  saved  the  price  of  oil  and  tallow- 
dip,  to  join  the  throng  in  the  tavern  and  gain, 
so  they  considered,  a  fairer  exchange  for  their 
pence.  Beneath  one  door  only  a  faint  line  of 
light  broke  the  depressing  gloom,  and  the  mur- 
mur of  voices,  or  an  occasional  hollow  cough, 
spoke  of  life  within. 

A  girl  and  two  men  were  in  the  kitchen,  which 
served  also  as  parlour.  The  girl  sat  sewing  on  a 
straight-backed  sofa  which  rilled  one  side  of  the 
wall.  This  sofa,  with  its  carved  ornaments  and 
faded  damask  cushions,  looked  quaintly  out  of 
place,  but  gave  an  immediate  interest  to  the 
room.  The  fire  was  well  stacked  ;  the  light  from 
the  coals,  from  the  flame  of  a  single  candle  in  a 
heavy  brass  candlestick  on  the  dresser,  and  from 
5 


THE    FATE    THAT    FOLLOWS 

a  lamp  on  a  shelf,  mingled  and  flickered  around 
the  girl.  Her  needle  passed  unceasingly  through 
the  soft,  grey  material  that  lay  upon  her  lap,  and 
thence  hung  entwined  about  her  feet  and  trailed 
on  the  clean  brick  floor. 

A  young  man  sat  beside  her,  and  his  arm 
touched  her  shoulder.  He  wore  still  the  jersey 
of  the  day's  employment,  and  his  well-shaped 
sunburnt  hands  were  clenched  between  his  knees  ; 
a  faint,  briny  odour  clung  to  his  clothes ;  to  his 
curly  auburn  head.  From  his  pipe,  held  bowl 
downwards,  the  ashes  trickled  unnoticed  upon 
the  grey  stuff.  He  wore  no  collar  round  his 
muscular  throat.  The  rough  edges  of  his  jersey 
bound  his  neck,  and  with  ostentatious  jauntiness 
a  large  horn-handled  knife  was  stuck  through  a 
leather  waist-belt  like  a  feather  in  a  cap. 

"  Love,"  he  was  saying,  and  his  voice,  full  and 
refined  in  accent,  quivered  as  he  spoke,  "  only 
twenty-four  hours  and  you're  mine.  I  '11  hold 
you  close,  I'll  call  you  wife  —  you're  not 
afraid  ? " 

She  looked  into  his  face  and  drew  her 
breath  quicker,  for  his  passion,  strong,  and  so 

6 


THE    FATE    THAT    FOLLOWS 

strange  to  these  cramped  surroundings,  enveloped 
her. 

"  Do  you  want  me  so  much  ? "  she  said  simply, 
and  tossed  back  her  head,  displaying  thus  the 
beauty  of  her  features,  the  delicate  moulding  of 
chin  and  ear,  —  "  are  you  sure  ?  " 

"  Sure  ? "  He  sought  his  words  slowly  to  gain 
mastery  over  a  burning  impulse.  "  I  'm  counting 
every  moment,  as  I  've  counted  every  hour. 
Have  n't  I  suffered  enough  to  gain  you  ?  I 
dread  everything  till  we're  together.  Margot" 
—  his  voice  took  on  a  fiercer  tone  — "  if  any  one 
wanted  you,  if  any  one  took  you  from  me  now, 
I  should  kill  him." 

"  No  one  wants  to  keep  me,  wild  boy,  no  one 
but  — "  She  had  risen  to  her  feet,  and  whisper- 
ing, nodded  towards  the  bowed  figure  in  the  chair 
on  the  hearth. 

She  took  the  few  steps  which  separated  her 
from  the  man  whom  she  had  indicated,  and  knelt 
beside  him.  He  seemed  as  he  sat,  of  great  height, 
his  head  belied  the  droop  of  his  shoulders.  It 
was  alert  and  defiant  in  pose ;  he  looked  like  a 
man  waiting  for  a  word  —  ready  on  its  delivery 
7 


THE    FATE    THAT    FOLLOWS 

for  immediate  action  ;    only  the  closest  glance  re- 
vealed the  fact  that  he  was  blind  —  stone  blind. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  pressing  to  him. 

He  made  no  reply,  but  stretched  out  his  right 
hand  before  him,  searching. 

The  girl  took  it  and  clasped  it  in  hers. 

"  To-morrow  I  'm  to  be  married,"  she  went 
on  eagerly,  "  at  the  chapel,  you  know.  The 
flowers  are  there  already.  The  minister  said  no 
flowers  —  that  neither  dead  nor  living  needed  them 
gathered — but  I  filled  my  arms  from  the  Squire's 
vinery,  and  brought  them  and  piled  them  in  wet 
moss  under  the  altar  because  to-morrow  they 
must  be  fresh.  Dick  calls  them  c  white  star-fish  ' 
and  the  autumn  leaves  '  blood  traces  on  his  boat 
decks,'  but  they  '11  be  the  best  of  all  the  wedding 
—  they  and  your  blessing." 

She  looked  over  her  shoulder  but  met  with  no 
expostulation  to  reprove  such  bold  words.  Dick's 
head  was  bowed  upon  his  hands.  The  man  at 
her  side  moved  restlessly ;  his  feet  shuffled  on 
the  rag-mat  laid  beneath  them. 

"  I  'm  so  happy,"  she  said,  continuing  her 
thoughts. 

8 


THE    FATE   THAT    FOLLOWS 

Then  John  Winterscale  spoke  sharply ;  he 
tried  to  escape  her  hold. 

"Is  that  her  voice?  Listen  —  answer  —  is 
that  her  voice  ?  " 

"  My  voice,  father,  mine  —  mine,"  she  urged. 
"  Come  back  to  the  present  for  my  sake.  I  'm 
so  tired  of  the  past." 

He  gave  a  cracked  laugh. 

"  Tired  —  you  Ve  said  that  often,  Therese  — 
tired  !  When  you  dance  all  night  and  sing  all 
day,  and  I  Ve  been  waiting  so  long.  It 's  I  who 
should  be  tired  —  I." 

His  querulousness  sank  to  a  moaning  and  a 
muttering.  He  gave  sharp  jerks  to  his  shoulders 
and  elbows,  as  if  he  wished  to  rise  and  hold  some- 
thing that  was  eluding  him. 

In  desperation,  M  argot  was  driven  to  explain. 
She  must  make  this  man  realise  her  life  that  was 
to  be,  as  he  realised  his  own  that  had  slipped  be- 
hind him.  To-night,  in  view  of  the  inevitable 
to-morrow,  seemed  her  last  chance. 

Dick  called  imperatively  from  the  sofa.     "  Let 
him  alone,  he  won't  understand.     Come  back  to 
me  —  I  miss  you." 
9 


THE    FATE    THAT    FOLLOWS 

She  smiled  confidently.  "  Wait  —  not  all 
things  at  once.  He  must  understand  —  it  will 
be  all  the  world  if  he  understands  —  wait." 

She  still  clung  to  the  worn  hands ;  upon  each 
she  laid  a  kiss  and  they  became  passive  to  her 
touch.  To  give  coherence  to  his  thoughts,  there 
was  but  one  charm  to  work,  worn  thin  as  it  was 
with  cruel  use. 

"  Tell  me  about  my  mother,"  she  asked,  with 
quick  decision. 

There  passed  through  the  gaunt  frame  a  visible 
thrill ;  an  expression  of  hope  crossed  the  man's 
face.  The  blank  of  his  sightless  eyes  was 
forgotten. 

"  Little  Margot,  is  it  ? "  His  voice  changed. 
"  Little  M argot's  good-night?  Whist!  Say  your 
prayers,  and  I  '11  tell  you  about  her  I  love  best. 
She  is  out  now,"  he  crooned,  "  when  you  sleep 
she  '11  be  home  —  sure,  certain  she  '11  be  home, 
and  she  '11  sleep  too,  while  all  my  soul  enfolds 
her." 

He  paused,  racked  by  his  cough.  To  the  girl 
there  was  nothing  strange  in  the  situation.  The 
romance  of  her  lonely  youth  had  been  built 

10 


THE    FATE    THAT    FOLLOWS 

around  that  phrase  "Tell  me  about  my  mother;" 
all  the  romance  of  her  memories  and  all  the  mis- 
ery. She  would  be  the  little  child  again  to  the 
father  who  only  knew  her  as  such.  She  would 
open  the  windows  of  his  darkened  mind  and 
bring  him,  through  the  lisping  of  her  simple 
prayer,  a  fuller  knowledge  to-night.  The  Mar- 
got  of  to-day  in  momentary  disguise  of  yesterday 
would  become  a  reality  to  him  at  last.  Dick 
had  said  it  was  impossible,  but  she  would  try, 
and  he  should  see.  He  was  watching  her  now, 
half  fearful  of  her  kisses  given  to  this  strange 
blind  man,  half  jealous  of  them.  She  felt  his 
glowing  eyes  upon  her  though  she  did  not  turn 
her  head. 

Far  out,  from  the  harbour  bar,  came  the  sound 
of  moving  waters.  Dick  heard  it,  his  listening 
strained,  concentrated,  like  that  of  all  seafaring 
men. 

"  The  wind  's  rising  from  the  south-east,"  he 
said. 

But  Margot  prayed :  "  Our  Father,  which  art 
in  Heaven,  hallowed  be  Thy  name,"  —  like  a 
young  child  she  faltered  and  intoned,  her  eyes 
ii 


THE    FATE    THAT    FOLLOWS 

the  while  fixed  on  the  sightless  face  and  on  the 
moving  lips,  till  the  prayer  faded  into  silence,  and 
he  cried  out :  "  They  say  I  'm  blind,  but  I  see  — 
I  see  ! " 

As  he  gathered  strength  to  speak  on,  he  grew 
exultant :  "  She  is  dressed  in  silver,  she  is  dressed 
in  gold.  I  Ve  read  of  beauty,  I  Ve  dreamt  of  it, 
but  she  :  She  is  more  beautiful  than  all,  and  she 
dances  to  the  whole  world." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  repeated  Margot  breathlessly, 
urging  him,  "  she  dances  —  she  dances  —  tell 
me  more  ? " 

"  They  said  I  should  never  win  her  —  I,  a 
mad  Oxford  boy  with  all  my  laurels  to  gain.  In 
the  great  theatre  where  princes  crowded  to  her 
with  their  wild  applause,  how  should  she  notice 
me  who  crawled  to  kiss  her  feet,  I,  who  crouched 
in  the  dark  and  waited  for  what  was  so  certainly 
mine.  One  day  her  smiling  eyes  reached  me  and 
she  saw  —  do  you  hear  —  saw  me." 

"  I  hear,"  the  girl  answered  tremulously. 

"Through  six  countries  I  followed  her  —  in 
each  one  I  found  her  more  desirable.  She  drove 
me  from  her  with  tears  and  anger,  she  threw  my 

12 


THE    FATE    THAT    FOLLOWS 

gifts  to  the  street  boys,  but  to  all  places  and 
crowds  I  followed  and  I  fought  for  her,  —  she 
could  not  escape,  —  how  could  she  ?  Then  one 
day  —  one  day  she  came  to  me ;  crept  slowly 
because  she  was  tired,  she  said ;  ran  fast  because 
my  love  compelled  her,  and  when  I  had  her  safe 
to  toil  for,  and  little  Margot  came" — he  turned 
on  his  chair  with  a  convulsive  movement  —  "I 
lost  her.  I  lost  her,"  he  almost  shrieked,  "  and 
I  cannot  see  to  find  her." 

How  often  Margot  had  heard  this  story. 
How  indelibly  every  detail  of  his  fancy,  and 
the  truth  of  the  sordid  reality  had  been  imprinted 
on  her  mind.  She  raised  her  eyes  to  the  faded 
photograph  of  the  ballet  dancer  hung  above  the 
mantelpiece.  She  saw  the  exquisite  features  and 
mocking  eyes  of  the  mother  whom  she  remem- 
bered only  as  in  a  dream,  the  woman  who  had 
fallen  from  superb  triumph  to  ghastly  degrada- 
tion, maiming  out  of  all  shape  the  soul  of  this 
man  whom  she  had  swayed  so  absolutely.  To- 
night in  the  telling  of  his  story  he  was  more 
flushed,  more  impatient  than  Margot  had  ever 
seen  him;  as  he  talked  he  snatched  his  hands 


THE    FATE    THAT    FOLLOWS 

from  hers  and  beat  them  together.  He  rose  and 
fell  in  his  chair  as  if  he  rode  in  a  chase.  He  was 
rapidly  out-reaching  his  strength.  She  leant  the 
more  heavily  against  his  knee,  confused  by  her 
effort,  conscious  of  a  supreme  difficulty  before  her. 

"  Listen,"  she  insisted. 

He  caught  up  the  word  intelligently:  "  Listen, 
while  you  tell  me  she  was  unworthy  —  that  she's 
dead  —  that  her  name  is  degraded  !  I  tell  you 
she  lives  —  she  loves  me  —  she  comes,  she  —  " 
by  an  effort  of  will,  as  if  something  had  been 
spoken  in  his  ear,  he  checked  himself;  his  head 
sank  upon  his  breast,  his  poor  arms  shook  as  if 
with  palsy. 

"  Dear,  hush,"  soothed  the  girl,  the  tears  run- 
ning down  her  cheeks.  "  It  was  not  for  evil  I 
asked  you  to  listen,  father.  I  am  Margot,  your 
little  Margot.  Did  n't  you  hear  me  pray  ?  Say 
once  that  you  love  me,  that  you  bless  me,  for 
to-morrow  I  shall  marry  Dick  Harrod." 

The  name  with  a  flicker  of  fresh  reason  came 
forcibly  through  his  lips:  "  Harrod  —  would  you 
have  me  bless  the  traitor  who  steals  her  heart  ? 
That  deceiver  of  women !  Ah,  she  will  not 

14 


THE    FATE    THAT    FOLLOWS 

listen.  Therese  —  a  curse  upon  her  —  she  loves 
him  —  she  loves  him  !  "  He  slurred  into  a  whim- 
pering jargon,  and  sank,  a  maudlin  heap,  lower  in 
his  chair;  his  hands,  limp  and  nerveless,  fell 
heavily  like  pendants  to  his  twitching  arms.  The 
moment  was  past. 

M argot  staggered  to  her  feet.  Her  lover  sup- 
ported her,  but  she  suffered  the  faintness  of 
despair.  Helplessly  her  glance  wandered  to  the 
corners  of  the  room ;  it  rambled  from  the  pieces 
of  furniture  that  from  here  and  there  in  the  old 
manor-house  of  other  days  had  been  saved  from 
the  auctioneer,  to  the  tumbled  lines  of  her 
wedding  gown,  to  her  lover's  face. 

He  caught  her  look  and  by  his  expression  of 
entreaty  changed  it.  She  gave  a  deep  sigh  as  if 
awakening  from  a  trance  and  trembled  in  his 
hold. 

"  Sweetheart,"  he  cried,  leaning  her  back 
against  his  breast,  "  what  did  I  tell  you?  He 
can't  understand  —  he  '11  never  understand  again. 
His  mind  's  distraught." 

"  Harrod  —  Harrod  —  "  she  murmured  in  dull 
distress.     "  What  did  he  mean,  Dick  ?  " 
15 


THE    FATE    THAT    FOLLOWS 

"  He  meant  that  my  father  was  a  gentleman, 
as  the  phrase  goes  —  Harrod  of  the  Tor  —  and 
that  you  knew  already :  that  he  wronged  my 
mother  for  one  and  cast  sheep's  eyes  at  yours 
years  after  is  truth.  Ah  —  bad  knowledge  for 
your  sweet  ears.  My  mother,  bless  her,  soft- 
ened my  father's  fierce  temper  in  me,  but  it 
rages  still  when  they  try  to  hurt  you,  when 
they  try  —  "  he  broke  off —  his  eyes  scanned 
her  face  hungrily.  "  Ah,  my  God  !  How  I  love 
you ! "  he  cried  out  and  covered  her  mouth  with 
kisses. 

She  wrenched  herself  free  and  stepped  back, 
her  face  suffused.  "Don't,  don't  —  that's  not 
what  I  want.  You  're  all  alike,  you  men  — 
passion  —  passion.  Our  purity  to  feed  it ; 
we  must  be  angels  that  you  may  be  devils. 
You  frighten  me,  I  say  —  you  frighten  me  as 
much  as  father  does."  Then  she  threw  herself 
upon  his  breast  again,  and  called  out  for  for- 
giveness ;  imploring  him  to  love  the  white 
flowers  on  the  altar,  the  softness  of  her  wed- 
ding dress,  the  Bible  she  had  given  him  as  a 
wedding  gift,  as  much  as  he  loved  her,  till,  over- 

16 


THE    FATE    THAT    FOLLOWS 

wrought,  she  fell  a-laughing  at  the  wonder  in  his 
eyes. 

Presently  as  they  sat  together  at  peace  again, 
the  ever-falling  rain  began  to  patter  and  trickle 
noisily  in  great  drops  upon  the  pavement  and 
upon  the  roof.  The  deep  whistle  of  an  approach- 
ing steamer  sounded.  The  moaning  at  the  har- 
bour bar  had  grown  very  distinct,  and  angry 
gusts  of  wind  heralded  a  midnight  tempest.  John 
Winterscale,  huddled  in  his  chair,  seemed  fast 
asleep. 

With  her  thimbled  ringer  Margot  pointed  to 
him. 

"  Shall  he  be  with  us,  Dick  ? " 

"  Aye  —  if  it  is  the  fate  that  follows  —  Heaven 
grant  no  worse.  You  can  watch  with  him  when 
I  'm  at  sea,  and  have  his  company." 

She  pouted. 

"  Must  you  go  often  fishing,  Dick,  and  leave 
me  lonely.  What  if  she  came  back?  " 

"  She  ?  —  she 's  gone  —  don't  fret  for  that,  dear 
love.  What  should  bring  her  here  again  —  no 
money  or  diamonds,  I  warrant."  He  touched  the 
weather-glass  beside  him.  "  A  bad  fall,"  he 
17 


THE    FATE    THAT    FOLLOWS 

added ;  "  I  mistrust  these  sullen  evenings  — 
there  '11  be  shipwreck  before  morning.  I  shall 
go  and  tend  the  moorings  of  the  boats.  We  want 
no  further  losses." 

Margot  checked  him. 

"  Wait  —  one  moment  longer  —  wait.  They  're 
coming  from  the  tavern,  let  the  crowd  go  by. 
Do  you  hear  them  ?  They  '11  get  brawling  if 
they  can  and  throw  foolish  words  at  you." 

Dick  smiled.     "  Are  you  afraid  for  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Margot.  "  I  'm  afraid  for  your 
wild  temper." 

In  truth  the  rabble  in  the  street  seemed  large 
and  noisy.  Well  satisfied,  and  unwilling  to  hide 
longer  behind  shut  doors,  they  shouted,  yelled 
and  cursed.  Heavy  footsteps  shuffled  and  danced, 
oaths  slipped  up  in  vacant  laughter.  Loud  be- 
yond all  else  sounded  a  woman's  angry  chatter, 
then  a  woman's  scream. 

Margot  heard  it. 

"  The  creature  's  hurt  "  —  she  bit  her  lip  — 
"  I  'm  sure  she  's  hurt.  Now  how  still  it  is  !  Are 
they  running  for  help  ?  Listen."  She  lifted  her 
hand. 

18 


THE    FATE    THAT    FOLLOWS 

"You  can't  bind  her  wounds,  dear  soul,"  and 
Dick,  rising,  kissed  her  on  the  fingers. 

But  almost  instantly  he  was  thrust  from  his 
footing  to  unsteadiness.  The  door  had  been 
determinedly  and  violently  pushed  inwards,  and 
a  woman,  flinging  herself  through  the  entrance 
against  his  shoulder  and  falling  back,  let  her 
weight  hasten  the  slamming  of  the  door  behind 
her.  She  looked  with  a  sleepy  smile  upon  the 
consternation  she  had  aroused. 

"  They  're  after  me,"  she  muttered ;  "  a  fuss 
for  nothing.  I  caught  her  in  the  ribs  with  the 
castanets  and  knocked  the  wind  out  of  her.  I  'm 
all  right  here,  ain't  I  ?  "  She  walked  forward  a 
pace  or  two,  and  dropped  into  the  carved  high 
chair  by  the  window  to  scan  with  insolent 
familiarity  one  and  the  other  with  a  gaze  first 
of  scrutiny,  then  of  interest,  then  of  sheer  amaze- 
ment. 

"  Well,  life  's  queer  enough,  but  this  is  queerest 
of  all,"  she  chuckled  as  their  silence  continued. 
"  I  've  come  back,  old  man,"  she  repeated,  rais- 
ing her  voice,  "  I  've  come  back  ;  hurry  now  and 
take  me  to  your  arms." 
19 


THE    FATE    THAT    FOLLOWS 

At  the  sound  of  the  voice  John  Winterscale 
turned  his  head  with  a  rapid  horizontal  move- 
ment, but  he  made  no  sign  of  speech.  "  What 
are  you  waiting  for  ?  "  she  added.  "  You  deserve 
a  warm  time  for  this  cold  welcome." 

"  Hush,"  cried  Margot  impulsively,  "  don't 
you  know  he's  blind?" 

"Blind,  is  he?  That  he  always  was  —  to  the 
world's  ways,"  the  woman  retorted,  and  lifting 
her  heavy  eyelids  she  fixed  inquisitive  eyes 
upon  the  lovers.  She  was  not  very  drunk,  but 
the  brandy  of  an  evening's  carousal  had  swept 
away  all  reserve.  Her  curiosity  was  indefinably 
coarse. 

"  Who  said  <  no  luck '  ?  Back  to  the  bosom 
of  my  family,  with  a  girl  as  like  myself  as  two 
peas,  and  a  young  pirate  of  a  lover  for  her  very 
own.  Kiss  her,  Dick  Harrod.  Do  you  think  I 
don't  know  you  ?  You  Ve  your  father's  eyes, 
young  sir,  and  he  made  a  fine  wooer."  She  swept 
her  eyes  jealously  over  Margot's  face  :  "  Stitch 
through  your  wedding  dress,  but  no  mating  if  I 
have  my  way  ;  you  'd  have  the  world  at  your  feet 
to-morrow,  and  not  a  sailor  man's  cabin  as  the 

20 


THE    FATE    THAT    FOLLOWS 

beginning  and  the  end.  Ah,"  she  pursued  with 
a  laugh,  "  I  hear  them  running  on.  They  Ve 
missed  their  quarry  this  time  and  left  me  with  my 
new  fortune." 

Margot,  in  this  woman's  revelation,  saw  no 
illusion,  but  the  truth.  She  surveyed  the  fate 
that  foils  all  mortal  strategies  to  capture  joy, 
and  shuddered  at  its  aspect.  This  wreck,  this 
defaced  image,  upon  which  strong  passions  had 
burnt  and  smouldered,  and  by  which  Love,  with 
hidden  face,  had  flown  past  —  this  destroyer  — 
this  shameless  woman  —  her  mother  —  her 
mother !  And  Dick  must  know  it  now.  The 
agony  of  that.  This  mother's  blood  in  her 
veins,  this  nature  grafted  to  hers,  —  what  could 
her  soul,  tainted  so  hideously,  sanctify;  what 
could  it  save  or  uplift  ?  Not  Dick  and  his 
mad  passion  !  Heavens,  not  Dick,  light  of  her 
eyes  !  Like  a  waxing  flame  the  idea  burnt  in 
her  brain.  She  stood  now,  the  work  dropped 
from  her  hands,  her  bosom  heaving,  and  listened 
to  the  torrent  of  words  ;  and  with  every  nerve  and 
muscle  tense,  her  lover  waited  beside  her  in  stony 
silence. 
21 


THE    FATE    THAT    FOLLOWS 

"  Come,"  said  the  woman,  rising  unsteadily, 
"  shall  I  tell  you  what  I  was  before  the  years 

stole  their  d d  march  on  me  ?  Shall  I  tell 

you  how  I  danced  to  the  piping,  and  made  men 
laugh,  and  sob,  and  shout?"  She  broke  into  a 
slovenly  quick-step,  lifting  her  draggled  brown 
skirts  from  the  muddy,  misshapen  boots  that  cov- 
ered her  still  supple  feet.  "  Old  man,"  she  ban- 
tered, her  head  on  one  side,  her  arms  akimbo, 
"  do  you  hear  ?  " 

With  the  movement  the  tinselled  hat  fell  away 
from  her  face,  and  the  old  insolent  witchery 
flashed  for  an  instant  over  her  faded  countenance, 
so  deformed  in  outline  and  texture  that  the  actu- 
ally delicate  features  had  lost  all  distinction. 
"  Old  man,  you  're  blind,"  she  went  on,  "  but  do 
you  remember  the  hall  at  Garseppo  and  your 
prayers  ?  You  've  chosen  a  bleak  dwelling  since 
I  left  you,  but  get  back  the  piano  from  the  pawn- 
shop, and  I  '11  drown  your  shrieking  winds  —  I 
hate  'em,"  and  she  laughed  noisily. 

Winterscale  in  his  chair  had  begun  to  whimper 
like  a  teased  child :  "  Ghosts,  ghosts,  they  are 
mumming  and  mocking  me,  Therese,  stealing 

22 


THE    FATE    THAT    FOLLOWS 

your  voice  and  your  memories.  Ah  !  "  — with  a 
sudden  sharp  snarl  of  impotence  —  "  would  that 
I  could  kill  them  !  " 

"  Ghosts,"  again  the  shrill  ugly  laugh  —  "  little 
ghost  about  me,  poor  fool  as  ever.  Oh  !  you  Ve 
sold  my  piano  and  my  dancing  shoes.  For 
shame,  you  pauper  prince.  Does  that  old  name 
grate  on  your  ears  ?  Bah  !  I  can  do  you  no 
more  hurt  nor  good  —  but  she  can  — she  can  —  " 
and  the  woman  clapped  her  hands  in  her  daugh- 
ter's face  till  she  almost  touched  it. 

At  this  Dick  sprang  forward  and  caught  her 
by  the  wrist,  and  they  struggled  together  with 
angry  exclamations,  but  with  a  fiercer  strength 
she  shook  him  off,  and  went  on  exulting. 

"  If  she  had  her  mother's  wit  to  lead  her  angel 
face,  she  '11  slip  you  yet,  young  fellow.  While 
I  've  been  roving  with  my  castanets  from  pot- 
house to  pot-house,  she  's  wanted  me  here.  She  's 
beautiful  —  beautiful  as  I  was.  Man  alive  !  I  '11 
teach  her  to  bring  you  gold,  and  fame  if  you  're 
worth  it ;  the  wagging  and  the  cheering  tongues 
—  it  all  comes  again  —  I  see  it  for  myself —  I 
see  it  for  her  a  hundred  times  over." 
23 


THE    FATE    THAT    FOLLOWS 

"  Therese,"  like  a  long-drawn  scream  the  name 
rang  out  and  flashed  across  the  room.  Startled 
by  its  wildness,  the  woman  ceased  her  glib  utter- 
ances. John  Winterscale  stood  at  full  height, 
the  heavy  chair  in  which  he  had  sat,  skidding 
from  his  push  like  a  marble,  to  the  wall ;  then  as 
if  on  the  instant  he  had  been  given  sight  and 
perfect  knowledge,  he  moved  towards  his  wife, 
but  she  drew  back  and  flung  her  arms  round 
Margot's  shrinking  form,  at  bay  from  his  ap- 
proach of  recognition  and  re-conquest. 

"  Not  yet,  old  man,"  she  called  in  loud  and 
strident  tones,  "  I  '11  come  and  snivel  to  you 
soon  enough,  but  she  and  I  have  to  face  the 
music  together ;  she  's  got  to  wear  the  fine  feathers 
that  you  stripped  me  of,  while  I  make  her  a 
queen,  the  mistress  of  grand  lovers,  I  — "  the 
words  that  raced  to  follow  gurgled  in  their  utter- 
ance, not  indeed  drowned  by  Margot's  piteous 
cry  of  "  Dick,  for  love's  sake,  save  me,"  not 
checked  by  fear  of  the  sudden  flash  of  a  knife 
between  the  lamp-wick  and  her  eyes,  but  ended 
by  a  deed  with  life  itself.  The  woman  dropped, 
to  thud  upon  the  brick  floor  and  lie  unmoving. 

24 


THE    FATE    THAT    FOLLOWS 

Again  the  mocking  nothingness  of  life  before 
death  had  proved  itself.  The  wind  rattling  at 
the  window,  the  steps  of  the  blind  man  groping 
towards  the  object  of  his  desire,  his  hands  held 
high  as  if  he  would  lift  her  round  the  breast  and 
raise  her  to  his  lips ;  the  quick  frightened  breath- 
ing of  the  destroyer  and  his  love ;  all  were  sounds 
sucked  in  to  deepen  the  silence  which  lay  upon 
the  twisted  heavy  figure  of  the  dead. 

What  had  been  Harrod's  thoughts  in  the  act? 
No  thought  but  a  mad  impulse  to  deliver  his 
beloved  —  to  push  away  from  her  entirely  an  evil 
birthright.  With  the  fancy  in  his  rage  to  shield 
her  with  something  more  potent  than  his  sun- 
burnt hand  he  had  touched  the  knife  at  his  belt — 
disappearance,  not  death,  was  what  he  asked,  and 
now  there  was  no  disappearance,  for  she  was  there 
still,  more  hideous  in  her  silence  than  in  her 
speech,  and  he  took  as  penalty  an  eternal 
recollection. 

Innocent  of  the  anguish  of  these  young  beings, 
John  Winterscale,  groping  feverishly,  had  come 
near  at  last.  His  hands  fell  lower  and  he  stum- 
bled by  the  table;  it  slid  away  as  the  chair  had 
25 


THE    FATE    THAT    FOLLOWS 

slid  away  at  the  fierceness  of  his  touch.  He 
dropped  upon  his  knees  :  "  Therese,  heart  of  my 
heart,  where  are  you  ?  "  he  babbled,  and  touched 
one  nerveless  arm.  He  fingered  the  upturned 
palm,  but  unsatisfied  he  drew  his  fingers  onward 
over  the  cheap  fur  jacket,  the  beaded  bodice,  the 
frayed  collar,  and  reached  the  face,  most  merci- 
fully shrouded  in  shadow.  Here  his  touch  lin- 
gered, and  as  he  stroked  with  a  woman's  tenderness 
each  hollow  and  feature,  he  cried  out  as  at  a  new- 
found joy. 

"  Sleeping,  sweetheart,  come  home  to  sleep, — 
I  said  it  would  be  so.  I  will  not  rouse  you.  Shall 
I  forgive  you,  forgive  you  for  being  long?  Ah, 
yes  —  lie  here."  He  crept  lower  till  his  unkempt 
hair  in  straggling  grey  locks  swept  across  her 
brow.  "  Lie  here."  He  opened  his  breast  and 
laid  the  poor  head  on  it.  "  I  'm  blind,  but  I  see 
you  now.  Ah,  God  be  praised,  I  see  you  now  !  " 
He  had  sunk  to  her  level,  he  muttered  gladly ; 
one  hand  wound  in  the  long  grey  folds  of  the 
wedding  gown  which  lay  forgotten,  heaped  be- 
neath the  corpse,  the  other  feeling  for  the  breath, 
over  the  half-open  rigid  mouth. 

26 


THE    FATE    THAT    FOLLOWS 

And  all  apart  from  this  strange  drama  at  their 
feet,  the  drawn  sword  of  their  misery  between 
them,  the  lovers  stood.  Children  yet,  but  old  in 
their  sorrow,  in  their  agonised  outlook ;  straining 
towards  each  other  in  the  darkness  of  the  present, 
yet  drawing  each  from  each,  terror-stricken  before 
the  menace  of  the  shrouded  future. 


27 


LADY    TOTO'S    BETROTHING 

u  All's  right  with  the  world.  .  .  ." 


LADY    TOTO'S    BETROTHING 

ADY  TOTO  BRINSLEY 

and  her  daughter  sat  at 
either  end  of  the  fire-guard 
on  the  upholstered  red  leather 
seat.  In  clothes  and  shoes 
they  were  much  in  tune,  but 
their  bearing  suggested  feminine  amenities. 

It  was  half-past  ten  on  a  September  morning, 
and  a  fire  burned  brightly  in  the  drawing-room  at 
Brockmere.  Lady  Toto  felt  chilly  after  break- 
fast at  all  times  of  the  year ;  her  daughter  had 
surreptitiously  opened  the  window,  yet  the  at- 
mosphere of  the  room  continued  oppressive. 

Lady  Toto  tapped  her  toe,  clad  in  scarlet  kid, 
upon  the  hearthrug. 

"  I  hope,  at  least,  Moyra,  you  won't  insult  the 
poor  boy." 

"  My  dear  Mums,  how  you  do  fly  off  at  a 
tangent.  Why  should  I  insult  him?  I  only 
said  —  " 

"  You    only  said,"    interrupted    Lady    Toto, 
"  that  you   thought  your  engagement  nonsense, 
and  that  you  had  no  intention  of  marrying  any 
one." 
3' 


LADY    TOTO'S    BETROTHING 

"Well,  perhaps  Lord  Kinbrace  will  consider 
that  sound  sense  ;  perhaps  he  thinks  just  the 
same  thing.  I  should  if  I  were  he." 

Moyra  slipped  from  her  perch,  and  with  rather 
flushed  cheeks  walked  to  the  writing-table.  She 
picked  up  a  letter  which  was  lying  on  it. 

"  Read  that  again,"  said  Lady  Toto,  watching 
her. 

The  letter  was  from  Lord  Kinbrace.  He 
announced  his  arrival  from  India  the  previous 
Friday  and  his  intention  of  alighting  at  Brockmere 
private  station  at  3.30  this  afternoon :  he  sent 
his  love,  and  might  a  carriage  meet  him  ? 

"It  is  obvious  that  he  wishes  to  come  —  that 
he  is  dying  to  see  you,"  insisted  Lady  Toto. 

"  Oh,  that 's  quite  possible  ;  really,  the  ab- 
surdity of  our  last  encounter  —  "  Moyra  went 
off  into  a  peal  of  laughter. 

"  Absurdity  !  What  absurdity  ?  "  retorted  her 
mother.  "  Really,  girls  of  the  present  day  have 
no  sentiment.  It  was  the  prettiest  scene  in  the 
world ;  the  apple-blossoms  falling  on  your  hair 
—  which  by  the  way,  Moyra,  is  getting  painfully 
dark  —  the  gentle,  courtly  way  he  held  your 

32 


LADY    TOTO'S    BETROTHING 

hand  whilst  we  betrothed  you :  he  looked  much 
more  like  a  young  Cavalier  than  an  Etonian." 

"A  young  what?  " 

"  A  young  Cavalier  —  a  Troubadour  if  you 
like."  Lady  Toto  floundered  a  little  amongst 
her  similes.  "  Dear  boy,  if  I  had  n't  been  nearly 
old  enough  to  be  his  mother  I  should  have  been 
in  love  with  him  myself." 

"  I  believe,"  began  Moyra  pensively,  "  that 
when  one  gets  on  in  life — "  she  looked  at  the 
excited  countenance  of  her  youthful  mother  and 
checked  her  observation  ;  Lady  Toto  was  shading 
her  complexion  with  a  tiger-lily  from  the  heat  of 
the  fire,  her  short  coat  and  shorter  petticoats  were 
cut  to  perfection,  the  sunlight  glinted  on  her 
elaborate  curls.  Certainly,  neither  physically 
nor  mentally  could  she  be  said  to  be  getting 
on  in  life ;  the  phrase,  in  relation  to  her,  was 
preposterous. 

Moyra,  sick  to  death  of  the  argument,  went 
over  to  the  window.  The  bright  Italian  garden  ; 
the  sunny  park  beyond;  the  wide,  still  lake 
in  the  valley  between  the  trees  :  she  wanted  to 
go  out  to  all  these  things.  Nature  at  least  would 
33  3 


LADY    TOTO'S    BETROTHING 

understand  that  an  outrage  had  been  done  to  her 
imagination ;  that  she  was  too  much  a  child  of 
hers  to  be  coerced  to  a  callous  conventionality  of 
action  without  strong  protest. 

But  her  mother's  voice  still  reached  her  in  her 
meditations. 

"  Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  Behave  with  perfect  propriety,  Mums  ;  what 
else  ? " 

"  Not  take  your  engagement  for  granted  ? 
Allow  him  to  think  himself  free  ?  "  Lady  Toto 
protested. 

"  Most  certainly  he  is  free  —  he  was  a  little 
boy  three  years  ago  ;  now  —  " 

"  Now  he  is  a  young  man  who  has  succeeded 
to  his  property,"  declared  Lady  Toto,  "  one 
of  our  biggest  Highland  lairds.  You  surely 
would  not  run  the  risk  —  " 

"Any  risk,"  broke  in  Moyra  defiantly. 
"  He  's  got  to  feel  what  he  's  supposed  to  feel  — 
or  else  —  or  else  he  may  go  where  he  will.  Now, 
Mums,  leave  me  to  manage  this ;  don't  inter- 
fere. Let  it  be  f  Lord  Kinbrace,'  not  '  dearest 
Geordie,'  for  goodness'  sake.  Don't  recall  apple- 

34 


LADY   TOTO'S    BETROTHING 

blossoms  and  Eton  collars  with  significant  smiles  ; 
don't  talk  of  marriage  as  if  it  were  the  only  bliss- 
ful condition  of  existence  and  don't  flick  imagin- 
ary bread-crumbs  off  his  coat-collar  as  you  do  to 
all  the  young  men.  Give  me  a  chance."  With 
which  parting  flippancy  Moyra  swung  out  through 
the  French  window  on  to  the  terrace,  leaving  her 
mother  in  a  state  of  incoherent  exasperation  to 
face  the  chef. 

"  Merlan  frit  —  Coq-de-bruyere  —  that  '11  do  — 
What  a  girl  she  is  !  —  Non,  Philippe,  pas  de  soupe 
grasse  —  elle  est  affreuse,  absolument  affreuse." 

A  little  later  Lord  Kinbrace  and  a  friend,  wait- 
ing the  departure  of  the  train,  paced  the  platform 
at  Paddington. 

"  Are  you  looking  forward  to  your  visit, 
Geordie  ? " 

"  Upon  my  soul,  I  don't  know.  I  Ve  hardly 
found  my  feet  in  this  country  yet.  Three 
years'  absence  is  a  long  time.  Then  the  remem- 
brance of  that  tomfoolery  last  time  I  was  at 
Brockmere  sticks ;  I  believe  I  'm  expected  to 
remember  it,  that 's  the  worst." 

"  What  does  Lady  Toto  say  ? " 
35 


LADY    TOTO'S    BETROTHING 

"  Read  her  letter." 

"  Ah,"  remarked  the  other,  handing  it  back, 
"  Lady  John  Brinsley  is  a  woman  of  the 
world." 

"But  I  like  her.  That's  the  best  of  it,  and 
Lord  John  is  such  a  good  fellow.  They  were 
awfully  kind  to  me  when  I  was  a  boy.  I  can't 
think  why,  for  I  was  a  regular  oaf.  If  only  that 
stupid  thing  had  n't  happened  in  the  garden — it 
was  merely  a  game,  but  Lady  Toto  took  it  seri- 
ously —  it  seemed  to  impress  her  so  much.  Every 
letter  she  has  written  has  had  something  like  this 
in  it:  'Your  little  sweetheart  Moyra  has  gone 
to  study  music  at  Dresden  this  winter,'  or  — 
*  your  little  sweetheart  Moyra  looked  so  pretty  at 
the  Drawing-Room  yesterday.'  " 

"A  mere  way  of  speaking,  I  expect.  Women 
can  never  call  a  spade  a  spade;  they  are  so 
exuberant." 

"  Oh,  but  she  means  it  to  be  a  spade,  whatever 
she  calls  it,"  laughed  Lord  Kinbrace.  "  I  've  a 
sort  of  presentiment  that  way.  Truth  is,  the  last 
thing  I  want  to  do  is  to  get  married." 

"  Why  ?  " 

36 


LADY    TOTO'S    BETROTHING 

"  Take  your  seats,"  said  the  guard,  slamming 
the  doors. 

Lord  Kinbrace  pushed  his  head  out  of  the 
window  as  the  whistle  sounded. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  why  when  I  come  up  on 
Saturday." 

"  Whatever  you  do,"  shouted  his  friend,  "  be 
strong-minded." 

But  Lord  Kinbrace  did  not  hear,  the  train 
steamed  past  the  end  of  the  platform.  He  set- 
tled himself  in  the  corner  of  the  carriage,  put  his 
hat  on  the  rack,  took  up  the  evening  paper  and 
floated  into  seas  of  perplexity.  He  felt  curiously 
uneasy  regarding  the  near  future.  To  begin  with, 
he  had  not  a  ghost  of  an  idea  what  Moyra  Brins- 
ley  might  be  like.  The  last  time  he  had  seen 
her  she  was  a  gawky  schoolgirl  with  roguish 
eyes — quite  taking  enough  to  his  schoolboy 
inexperience.  "Stunning"  he  called  her  when 
she  had  run  him  a  race  down  the  avenue  and 
beaten  him,  after  the  betrothal.  But  since  then 
he  had  n't  even  seen  her  photograph,  or  heard 
anybody  talk  about  her.  Only  these  constant  let- 
ters from  Lady  Toto,  like  a  tug  at  a  chain  when  he 
37 


LADY   TOTO'S    BETROTHING 

thought  himself  free.  And  he  wanted  so  much 
to  be  free ;  not  for  any  particularly  worthy  pur- 
pose, but  that  he  might  go  on  idealizing  Mrs. 
Dupre  —  the  wife  of  the  senior  major  in  the  jyth 
Dragoons. 

He  gave  an  impatient  jerk  to  his  cap,  pulling  it 
more  over  his  eyes.  He  was  aware  of  conflicting 
emotions  about  Mrs.  Dupre.  She  was  rather  an 
important  person  to  be  able  to  think  about  in 
close  relation  to  himself — rather  a  satisfaction 
that  she  was  in  love  with  him  when  so  many 
older  men  were  in  love  with  her —  yet  it  was 
curious  that  he  did  n't  miss  her  more.  The 
September  stubble  and  partridges,  the  early 
meets,  his  new  motor-car,  were  all  such  eloquent 
consolations  for  the  lady's  absence  in  India  — 
too  eloquent,  perhaps ;  the  fact  was  he  did  n't 
miss  her  at  all. 

"  I  suppose  all  we  men  are  like  that,"  he  mused, 
his  eye  on  the  varying  soft-coloured  landscape 
as  the  train  sped  on,  "  —  things,  things,  things, 
and  people  last  of  all."  He  felt,  drawing  this 
conclusion,  quite  a  philosopher. 

Yet  on  arrival  he  became  again  the  nervous 

38 


LADY    TOTO'S    BETROTHING 

boy.  The  immediate  recognition  of  the  footman 
who  seemed  to  have  kept  his  place  a  long  time, 
the  proprietary  air  with  which  the  man  seized  his 
bag  and  rugs,  the  close-shut  brougham  —  an 
anomaly  on  such  a  day  as  this  —  all  began  to 
accentuate  his  sensation  of  captivity.  He  wanted 
to  suggest  walking,  but  the  coachman's  eye  was 
upon  him  like  a  gaoler's.  After  all,  it  was  a  short 
drive.  Through  the  great  iron  gates  with  the 
stone,  spread  eagles  on  either  pillar,  down  the 
broad  sweep  of  the  elm-avenue  to  the  familiar 
oak  hall-door,  studded  with  rusty  iron  nails. 
The  groom  of  the  chambers  led  him  along  the 
parquet  passage  with  its  cupboards  of  old  china 
and  its  rusty  armour.  The  light  from  the  mul- 
lioned  windows  reflected  his  figure  in  the  pier- 
glass  on  the  end  wall  all  the  way  as  he  went. 

And  Moyra,  playing  Peeping  Tom  from  a  nook 
in  the  gallery,  watched  the  moving  reflection ; 
studied  the  balance  of  his  walk,  the  neat  dark 
head  and  sunburnt  skin,  his  chestnut  —  no  longer 
budding  —  moustache  with  growing  approval. 
Then  as  he  reached  the  ante-room  and  Lady 
Toto  with  both  hands  outstretched  rustled  out  to 
39 


LADY   TOTO'S    BETROTHING 

meet  him,  she  doubled  back  down  the  stairs,  slipped 
past  the  verandah  and  fled  into  the  garden. 

Later  at  tea  they  all  foregathered. 

"  How  do  you  do,"  she  said  brusquely,  "  I 
should  n't  have  known  you  again  if  I  had  met 
you  in  the  street." 

"  No  ?  "  he  answered,  too  shy  to  glance  at  her 
for  more  than  a  second.  He  wanted  to  say  some- 
thing else,  to  give  her  tit  for  tat  for  her  forget- 
fulness,  but  he  felt  unaccountably  embarrassed. 
Lady  Toto  dropped  the  silver  sugar-basin  amongst 
the  tea  cups  and  broke  one.  This  was  a  merciful 
diversion,  but  still  the  conversation  lagged. 

"John  ought  to  be  in  from  shooting  soon," 
said  Lady  Toto. 

"Will  there  be  any  birds  left  for  me  to- 
morrow ? "  remarked  Lord  Kinbrace,  his  face  in 
his  tea. 

"  Partridges  are  the  one  thing  that  never  fail 
here,"  asserted  Moyra,  spreading  raspberry  jam 
on  a  brown  tartine. 

This  complete  aloofness  one  from  another  was, 
according  to  the  young  people's  estimate,  a  very 
fair  start,  but  Lady  Toto  had  never  been  forced 

40 


LADY   TOTO'S    BETROTHING 

to  such  self-command  before.  She,  poor  lady, 
was  sorely  worried.  Of  love-making  of  a  sort 
she  had  plenty  of  knowledge,  her  undefeated 
youth,  indeed,  had  allowed  it  to  be  superficially 
perpetual.  She  had  long  ago  marked  herself  a 
success.  As  the  years  advanced  she  grew  more 
complacent,  believing  herself  to  be  well  preserved 
—  that  her  appearance  justified  the  approving 
words  of  men.  In  all  fairness  to  Lady  Toto 
be  it  said  that  compliments  and  archness  were  her 
simple  weapons.  From  the  light  combats  in 
which  these  could  engage,  she  obtained  complete 
delight.  To  explore  the  dark  recesses  of  pas- 
sion's possibilities  never  occurred  to  her.  Such 
lapses  in  other  people  she  associated  with  her  pet 
abhorrence,  tears  and  dishevelment.  It  was  bad 
enough  to  have  dear  Lord  John  serious  some- 
times, and  the  worry  of  being  gossiped  about 
would  have  incited  crows'-feet.  "  Elle  est  surtout 
tres  jeune  —  mais  au  fond  tres  pratique"  her 
French  governess  had  said  when  leaving  her 
twenty-five  years  ago,  and  that  seemed  indeed 
to  explain  everything.  Moyra  was  the  cause  of 
her  deepest  emotions  —  to  her  a  most  inexplicable 


LADY    TOTO'S    BETROTHING 

girl.  At  this  moment,  trying  beyond  measure ; 
sweeping  opportunity  away  with  an  indifference, 
a  positive  rudeness,  to  this  young  man  that  set 
Lady  Toto's  nerves  on  edge.  Instinct,  however, 
preserved  her  from  arousing  a  dispute  by  per- 
sonal comments,  so  she  tapped  her  foot  continu- 
ally and  drank  mouthfuls  of  coffee,  hoping  still 
for  the  best  as  the  pauses  between  the  young 
people's  monosyllables  grew  longer. 

"  Let 's  go  out,"  said  Lord  Kinbrace  suddenly. 

The  long  rays  of  the  setting  sun  darted  in  at 
the  window  and  caressed  Moyra's  pretty  head. 
For  this  delightful  occurrence  his  eyes,  grown 
bolder  now,  were  full  of  admiration. 

"  Let 's,"  she  answered,  starting  up. 

"  My  dear,  why  don't  you  ride,"  suggested 
Lady  Toto. 

"  We  will,"  replied  Moyra,  pleasantly,  "  I  '11 
go  to  the  stables." 

"  May  I  put  on  my  gaiters  ?  "  added  milord. 

Now  indeed  Lady  Toto  felt  relieved.  Lord 
Kinbrace's  allusion  to  his  gaiters  brought  a  touch 
of  familiarity,  of  domesticity  into  their  strained 
relationship  —  the  ice  was  broken. 

42 


LADY    TOTO'S    BETROTHING 

"  Gaiters  —  why  of  course,  let  me  fetch  them 
for  you  "  —  she  became  arch  ;  "  I  'd  love  to 
button  them  on  with  my  own  little  silver  button- 
hook ;  now  do  let  me,  deares — "  She  caught 
Moyra's  steady  glance  of  disapproval  and  hesi- 
tated. Hesitated  indeed,  and  sat  down  again  to 
direct  hurriedly  in  a  changed  voice: 

"  Ring  the  bell  —  had  n't  you  better  ring  the 
bell,  Moyra  ?  Edward  will  bring  the  gaiters  to 
the*  hall." 

"  Very  well,  Mums,"  Moyra  replied,  in  a  level 
tone  of  agreement.  She  swept  her  triumphant 
gaze  to  the  young  man  standing  in  uncertainty 
behind  her  : 

"  Come — Lord  Kinbrace,"  she  said. 

They  rode  that  day  and  again  the  next.  The 
woods  were  tinged  with  gorgeous  colour ;  the 
long  grass  glades  twining  beneath  nut-trees  and 
tangled  blackberry  bushes  harboured  shadows  and 
bright  sunrays ;  the  pulse  of  summer  still  beat 
full  measure,  defying  the  approach  of  autumn. 

Moyra  and  her  companion  sucked  the  ripe  fruit 
and  cracked  thenuts  with  white  teeth, whiter  between 
their  purple-dyed  lips,  and  laughed  continually. 
43 


LADY    TOTO'S    BETROTHING 

The  place  and  season  lent  themselves  for  senti- 
ment, for  the  recalling  of  the  intimate  moments 
of  the  past,  but  Moyra  had  chased  recollection 
from  her  eyes  when  George  Kinbrace  almost 
hopefully  began  to  look  for  it.  Her  nonchal- 
ance, her  unaffected  prattle  about  nothing  at  all 
were,  in  the  beginning,  matters  for  congratulation. 
In  time,  however,  he  began  to  be  piqued  that  he 
had  so  obviously  grown  an  object  of  indifference 
to  her.  "  She  likes  men,"  he  concluded,  "  she  is 
the  sort  of  woman  who  does  —  but  I  believe  she 
has  no  more  intention  of  alluding  to  our  betrothal, 
or  of  accepting  our  engagement  than  of  wedding 
the  man  in  the  moon.  In  all  respects  that's  a 
mercy  "  —  his  reflection  carried  him  on.  "  Liberty 
forever  —  and  Mrs.  Dupre — "  But  this  gratifi- 
cation was  tempered  by  a  touch  of  disgust ;  Mrs. 
Dupre's  fair  memory  was  tarnished  when  Moyra 
Brinsley  rode  or  walked  beside  him,  fresh  as  a 
daisy,  chattering  with  fascinating  irresponsibility. 

She  was  brilliant  at  breakfast,  and  lovely  at 
noon,  a  dream  in  her  tea-gown,  and  the  most 
beautiful  person  he  had  ever  seen  when  her 
neck  and  arms  were  bare,  and  the  soup  was 

44 


LADY    TOTO'S    BETROTHING 

handed  round.  But  he  liked  her  best  on  her 
pony  in  her  little  homespun  shooting  dress, 
when  she  seemed  like  a  bon  camarade,  a  jolly 
playfellow  to  ride  to  the  end  of  the  world  with, 
out  of  sight  of  Lady  Toto's  eagle  eye,  out  of 
sound  of  Lord  John's  good-humoured  platitudes. 

They  had  spent  a  long  afternoon  across  coun- 
try, and  Lord  Kinbrace  was  tired  of  the  pitch- 
and-toss  nature  of  the  conversation  which  gave 
hirA  no  opportunity  to  hold  her  at  any  point. 

"  A  penny,"  she  said  suddenly,  with  a  roguish 
eye-flash  from  under  her  peaked  cap. 

Come,  this  was  better,  this  desire  for  news  of 
himself.  He  edged  his  pony  nearer  to  hers. 
He  began  to  be  aware  that  he  was  falling  in  love 
with  her. 

"  I  was  thinking  I  'd  like  to  travel  with  you," 
he  said. 

"  Is  my  geography  deficient  ? "  she  asked 
demurely. 

"Oh,  not  that  —  but  you'd  understand  so 
well,  you  would  n't  mind  missing  a  London 
season  to  shoot  in  Cashmir,  and  I  know  some- 
how you  would  not  be  seasick  on  my  yacht; 
45 


LADY    TOTO'S    BETROTHING 

as  for  Java  and  Sumatra,  and  all  those  tropical 
islands,  you  would  simply  adore  them." 

"  Gracious,  what  a  lot  you  are  taking  for 
granted." 

"  Don't  you  believe  in  instinct  ?  " 

"  Not  much." 

"  What  do  you  believe  ?  " 

"  That  horses  like  carrots,  and  that  —  well 
that's  about  all." 

"  Now,  Miss  Brinsley,  please  be  serious." 

"  Miss  Brinsley  is  serious,"  insisted  Moyra, 
blowing  her  nose ;  "  I  believe  I  've  got  a  cold  in 
my  head." 

"Welcome  that,  if  it  chastens  you,"  answered 
Lord  Kinbrace  savagely. 

"Thanks.  You  think  me  very  foolish?"  she 
enquired. 

"  I  think  you  stunning,"  he  retorted,  becoming 
venturesome  in  his  tactics. 

The  word  was  reminiscent,  as  he  intended  it 
should  be.  She  flushed. 

"  That 's  schoolboy  slang." 

"  Did  you  ever  know  a  schoolboy  who  used  it  ?  " 

"  Lots." 

46 


LADY    TOTO'S    BETROTHING 

"Tell  me  some?" 

"  Ralph  Carr,  and  Tom  Durand,  and  the  little 
Kibblet  twins  —  "  She  paused. 

"And  —  ?" 

"  And  you,  I  suppose." 

Lord  Kinbrace  grew  reckless ;  the  girl  looked 
so  lovely  and  she  tantalised  him.  He  put  his 
handsome  young  face  close  to  hers ;  she  kept  her 
eyes  downcast,  but  for  an  instant  he  saw  her  bite 
her  lip. 

*c  Why  do  you  tease  me  ?  "  he  said.  "  Ever 
since  I  Ve  been  here  you  've  been  actually  cruel  — 
twisted  all  my  words  to  nonsense  —  never  been 
confidential  once.  Don't  you  remember  the 
apple-blossom  on  the  pergola  ?  Don't  you  re- 
member our  serious  wooing  ?  " 

She  gave  no  answer.  The  flush  came  and 
went  in  her  cheek,  and  he,  with  that  sudden  sense 
of  possession  upon  which  a  man  stakes  a  great 
deal  and  loses  so  much,  said  "  You  know  when 
we  're  married  I  shan't  let  you  have  it  all  your 
own  way.  I  shall  —  " 

She  snatched  the  rein  from  his  hand,  she  turned 
her  face  flaming  to  his. 
47 


LADY   TOTO'S    BETROTHING 

"  Married  !  "  she  cried,  "  married  to  you  ! 
What  are  you  talking  about  ?  I  'm  engaged 
already."  Then  she  whipped  up  her  pony  and 
cantered  away. 

Lady  Toto  had  to  call  to  herself  for  consola- 
tion many  resources  that  evening.  It  was  obvi- 
ous that  some  sort  of  disaster  had  happened. 
All  day  she  had  been  full  of  suppressed  excite- 
ment. The  young  people  had  been  constantly 
together:  the  tone  of  their  voices,  the  quality 
of  their  laughter  floating  up  from  the  garden 
seemed  all  as  it  should  be.  She  began  to  frame 
her  congratulations,  to  wonder  if  the  papers  would 
say  that  she  looked  as  young  as  her  daughter  at 
the  wedding,  to  speculate  if,  as  a  grandmother,  she 
should  wear  a  bonnet. 

"Let's  have  the  '82  Perrier-Jouet,  Tots,  at 
dinner  to-night,"  she  had  said,  poking  up  Lord 
John's  slumbering  form  in  the  leather  arm- 
chair. 

"  My  dear,  our  best  wine  when  we  are  alone  ?  " 
protested  the  sleepy  nobleman. 

"  Why  not  when  we  are  alone  ?  I  '11  tell  Baker. 

48 


LADY    TOTO'S    BETROTHING 

Good  luck  such  as  ours  should  have  good  wine 
to  drink  its  honour."  She  tripped  off  on  her 
errand,  feeling  singularly  romantic  and  happy. 
Now  even  before  the  lamps  were  all  lit  she  had 
been  cast  into  a  fit  of  despair.  She  had  come 
down  in  a  new  pink  tea-gown  to  find  Moyra 
huddled  in  a  chair  alone,  still  in  her  short 
shooting  skirt,  and  her  face  buried  behind  the 
paper. 

"  I  'm  not  coming  to  dinner,  Mums,  my  head 
aches.  Tell  them  to  send  up  fish,  roast  partridge 
and  apple  tart  to  the  school-room." 

And  a  little  further  on,  in  the  billiard-room, 
Lord  Kinbrace  standing  on  the  bear-skin  hearth- 
rug and  saying  with  a  set  countenance : 

"  I  'm  so  sorry,  Lady  John,  but  I  must  get 
back  to  town  by  the  7.15  express  to-morrow 
morning.  If  it  is  too  early  to  have  the  carriage 
out,  I  could  easily  walk." 

Then  indeed  Lady  Toto's  tears  welled.  Her 
voice  was  full  of  genuine  distress  as  she  returned 
to  that  prohibited  occupation  of  smoothing  imag- 
inary crumbs  from  the  young  man's  coat  lapels. 

"  But,  my  dear  Geordie,  why  ?  We  shall  be 
49  4 


LADY    TOTO'S    BETROTHING 

miserable  to  lose  you.  You  have  been  here  so 
short  a  time,  and  the  hounds  draw  at  the  best 
place  at  six." 

"  Oh,  yes,  the  hounds,"  repeated  Lord  Kin- 
brace  vaguely,  in  a  tone  of  disappointment. 

"  Look  here,  young  man,"  —  Lord  John's 
herculean  form  stumped  across  to  them  and  re- 
lieved the  strain  of  the  situation,  —  "  are  you 
going  to  ride  Gadfly  or  that  buck-jumper,  Prim- 
rose ?  I  really  want  you  to  try  her.  She  is  a 
clinker  to  hounds  after  the  first  ten  minutes." 

"  I  'm  afraid,  Lord  John  —  "  began  Kinbrace. 

"  Afraid,  not  a  bit  of  it ;  you  Ve  the  pluck  of 
the  devil.  You  '11  come  back  next  month  and 
want  to  ride  nothing  else.  I  'd  better  have  both 
horses  out  for  you."  And  Lord  John  hurried 
away  to  his  orders. 

"  You  see,"  said  Lady  Toto. 

"  I  suppose  I  'd  better  wait,"  said  the  boy, 
clutching  at  a  straw  ;  "  there's  an  express  at  night, 
is  n't  there  ?  " 

"  Quite,  quite  late ;  the  middle  day  trains  are 
useless."  Lady  Toto  rejoiced  in  the  reprieve. 
"  Poor  Moyra  has  a  terrible  headache,"  she  added 

50 


LADY   TOTO'S    BETROTHING 

sympathetically  ;  "  I  've  persuaded  her  to  go  to 
bed." 

And,  for  the  life  of  him,  at  the  moment  Lord 
Kinbrace  could  not  express  any  commiseration. 

There  had  been,  between  three  and  four  in  the 
morning,  a  heavy  fall  of  rain.  By  six  o'clock  the 
rising  of  the  earth-smell  into  the  keen,  clear  air, 
the  perfect  stillness  of  the  atmosphere,  the  cloud- 
less sky  offered  a  gladness  generously.  Lord 
Kfnbrace,  like  all  true  sportsmen,  loved  Nature 
from  his  childhood,  had  ever  given  her  his  won- 
dering exclamations  at  sunrise  and  sunset,  or  in 
the  hour  of  storm.  Now  cantering  with  hands 
down  and  head  bent  towards  the  hounds  gath- 
ered about  the  hunt-servants  in  the  park,  he 
forgot  the  trials  of  the  previous  evening,  his 
wounded  vanity,  the  nursing  of  his  grievance ; 
he  could  not  be  despondent,  he  was  so  glad  to 
be  alive. 

Still  it  was  evident  that  Moyra  was  not  with 
Lord  John.  She  was  probably  not  up,  had  no 
intention  of  changing  her  mood.  If  she  chose  to 
sulk  —  but  could  she  sulk?  that  was  the  ques- 


LADY    TOTO'S    BETROTHING 

tion  ;  and  she  .answered  it  by  riding  out  of  the 
yard  with  the  post-bag  in  her  hand. 

"  Good  morning,"  she  called  out  with  the 
brightest  smile,  "  I  am  not  going  to  hunt;  it's 
rot  at  this  time  of  year.  I  am  going  to  Dry- 
chester  to  fetch  the  letters." 

"  You  're  in  an  uncommon  hurry,"  he  growled, 
"  for  your  letters.  The  mail  train  won't  be  in." 

"  Oh,  by  the  time  I  get  there." 

"  I  should  have  thought  a  study  of  hound- 
work  more  exhilarating." 

"  You  're  to  ride  Primrose,  then,"  she  continued, 
ignoring  his  criticism.  "  Be  careful  —  she 's  the 
very  demon  of  a  dream." 

"  I  suppose  you  would  laugh  if  you  saw  me 
laid  out." 

"  Why,  no  — it  would  n't  be  funny." 

Then  she  waved  her  whip  and  trotted  off, 
clattering  along  the  hard  high  road. 

Lord  Kinbrace  looked  after  her. 

"  That 's  a  funny  girl,"  he  muttered,  steeling 
himself  to  an  independence  of  judgment.  "The 
man  who  is  going  to  marry  her  will  have  his  time 
full." 

52 


LADY    TOTO'S    BETROTHING 

He  reproached  himself  for  a  lack  of  courage 
with  Lady  Toto  ;  he  might  so  easily  have  asked 
her  who  the  fellow  was.  And  the  thirst  for  the 
knowledge  worried  him  for  an  hour  or  two.  It 
took  the  zest  out  of  the  pretty  hound-work.  It 
caused  the  huntsman's  cheery  notes  to  get  on  his 
nerves  and  made  his  hands  hard  on  Gadfly's 
mouth. 

"  I  say,"  Lord  John  trotted  up  on  his  fat  bay 
cob,  "  are  n't  you  going  to  get  on  Primrose  ? 
Only  half  an  hour  to  breakfast,  you  know." 

Lord  Kinbrace  was  in  a  temper  for  a  skirmish. 
He  vaulted  from  saddle  to  saddle  with  alacrity. 

"  Take  her  down  the  main  ride  for  a  bit," 
urged  Lord  John.  "  Whoa,  old  girl !  —  that 's  it, 
give  her  her  head." 

Kinbrace  set  his  teeth  ;  the  brute  meant  trouble, 
he  hated  black  mares  with  a  large  white  in  the  eye 
and  a  perpetual  swish  of  the  tail. 

He  turned  her  from  the  hounds  ;  this  she  re- 
sented. He  was  obdurate — she  obstinate.  Still 
on  the  way  he  wanted  to  go  she  went  at  last  — 
but  raced  entirely  out  of  control ;  her  jaw  up- 
raised, her  head  sawing  from  side  to  side.  In 
53 


LADY    TOTO'S    BETROTHING 

vain  he  strove  to  steady  her.  He  saw  ahead  the 
rabbit  wire  and  pheasant  hutches,  he  saw  moreover 
the  approach  of  Moyra,  the  reins  on  'her  pony's 
neck,  the  open  sheets  of  the  "Drychester  Weekly 
Times  "  obscuring  her  face.  Five  minutes  later 
the  following  :  a  receding  horse  at  a  gallop,  a 
receding  pony  at  a  trot,  both  riderless.  Upon 
the  ground  a  crumpled  heap  of  man  and  maid, 
alive  and  speaking,  but  hopelessly  disarmed. 
Everywhere  a  flutter  of  letters  upon  the  grass 
like  so  many  doves  in  a  picture  book. 

"  Oh  —  oh  —  oh  —  "  in  crescendo,  and  Moyra 
grasped  a  shapely  leg,  stockinged  pepper-brown. 

"  God  Almighty  ! "  quoth  Lord  Kinbrace 
hoarsely,  "  have  I  killed  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  cried  Moyra,  "  oh  ! "  She  leaned 
heavily  against  his  shoulder  and  he  entwined  her 
in  his  arms  all  unconscious  that  further  and 
further  into  the  earth  he  ground  beneath  his  heel 
Mrs.  Dupre's  last  letter  freshly  forwarded. 

"  Is  it  awful  pain  ? " 

"  Partly  pride,"  she  muttered.  He  thought 
she  moaned. 

"  That  beast ! " 

54 


LADY    TOTO'S    BETROTHING 

"  I  told  you  !  " 

"  What  did  you  tell  me  ?  " 

"  That  she  was  a  beast  first  and  a  darling  after- 
wards." 

"  I  have  no  recollection  of  it  —  did  you?" 

"  Certainly.     Why  are  n't  you  hurt?  " 

"  I  wish  I  were." 

"  I  don't,  for  you  must  carry  me." 

"  Is  your  leg  broken  ?  " 

"  No,  but  it  aches." 

He  stood  up  and  lifted  her  ;  at  the  moment 
she'' seemed  a  featherweight,  though  later  she  con- 
fessed to  ten  stone. 

And  Lady  Toto  at  this  period  became  mag- 
nificent. 

The  riderless  steeds  reaching  their  stables  had 
stunned  her  to  an  awful  terror.  Recovering  her- 
self she  had  rushed  hatless  and  in  her  turquoise- 
kid  shoes  towards  the  wood,  followed  by  the 
helpers  and  the  gardeners.  In  good  time  she  saw 
the  two — saw  Moyra  still  lying  and  Kinbrace 
kneeling  beside  her.  Then  she  halted,  finally 
returned,  and  drove  her  retainers  behind  their 
walls.  She  exercised  a  superb  command.  "  My 
55 


LADY    TOTO'S    BETROTHING 

child  may  be  dead,"  she  assured  herself — "  quite 
dead,  but  after  all  it  is  a  crucial  moment."  Then 
for  the  first  time  for  years  she  went  up  to  the 
yellow  boudoir  and  cried. 

Thus  Geordie  Kinbrace  carried  Moyra  home 
alone.  She  held  to  the  mutilated  post-bag  with 
the  letters  crammed  in  again  —  all  except  Mrs. 
Dupre's,  that  indeed  had  been  buried  under  a 
fern  root.  To  his  surprise  he  found  no  one 
about.  He  walked  with  his  burden  through  the 
open  hall  door  down  the  parquet  passage  and  laid 
her  unaided  upon  the  sofa  in  the  drawing-room. 

"  Will  you  go  to  bed  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Bed  ?  "  opening  her  eyes  wide,  "  I  'd  rather 
be  here." 

"  I  shall  go  for  the  doctor,"  he  said. 

"  It 's  not  the  doctor  I  want,"  she  declared. 

He  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  sofa  and  she 
let  him  take  her  hand. 

"  But,  Moyra,  you  must  see  him.  I  am  miser- 
able about  you." 

"  Don't  be  miserable.  I  am  rather  happy  now 
it  is  over.  I  might  have  broken  my  neck,  you 
know." 

56 


LADY    TOTO'S    BETROTHING 

"It  was  awful  —  "he  said. 

"  The  moss  was  so  soft,"  she  answered. 

"  You  are  too  brave  by  far." 

"  Don't  you  like  brave  women  ?  " 

"  One  ought  to,  but  I  'm  such  a  d — d  coward 
myself." 

"  A  coward  !  "  she  cried  incredulously,  "  not 
you,  Geordie." 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  used  his  Christian 
name;  he  felt  a  lump  in  his  throat. 

"  I  can't  face  the  thought  of  your  marrying 
any  one  but  me,"  he  said  in  irrelevant  desperation. 

"In  fact,  you'd  rather  I  had  been  killed  just 
now  ?  " 

"  Almost,"  he  groaned. 

He  felt  her  breath  on  his  cheek.  Her  cap  had 
fallen  off  and  her  curls  were  all  tumbling  into 
her  eyes.  He  forgot  the  accident  altogether. 

"  Look,"  he  said,  "  I  must  know.  You  must 
trust  me.  Tell  me  the  name  of  the  chap." 

"  Tell  you  ?   For  what  reason  ?  " 

"  I  can't  stand  uncertainty  —  guess-work.  I 
want  the  truth." 

"  The  truth."  She  raised  her  bewitching  little 
57 


LADY   TOTO'S   BETROTHING 

face  to  his  as  closely  as  she  dared.  She  put  her 
hands  on  his  shoulders,  pulling  herself  up. 

"  Well,  if  you  would  be  very  kind  and  get  me 
some  Pomade  Divine,  some  coffee,  some  marma- 
lade and  some  buttered  rolls,  I  '11  tell  you  the 
truth.  I  'm  engaged  to  you." 

"  You  witch,"  he  cried  ;  then,  seeing  a  flash 
of  heathery  hills  in  her  blushing  cheeks  —  of 
azure  rippling  lochs  in  her  expressive  eyes,  he 
forgot  to  be  strong-minded,  forgot  to  argue  the 
point,  dropped  in  his  joy  to  soft  Gaelic  speech 
and  clasped  her  to  his  heart. 

"  Muirnean,"  he  said,  "  Muirnean  ;  "  which, 
being  interpreted  by  Lady  Toto,  meant  the  best. 


THE  DOUBT 

"  When  first  we  met  we  did  not  guess 
That  Love  would  prove  so  hard  a  Master 


THE    DOUBT 

irew  the  end  of  his  cigar 
into  the  fire.  "  Don't  you 
think  that  you  are  making 
an  unnecessary  fuss,"  he 
said  to  her. 

The  surroundings  cer- 
tainly gave  reason  to  his 
remark.  A  boudoir  hung  with  rose  damask  pan- 
els and  curtains,  and  carpeted  by  thick  grey  pile 
laid  beneath  artistic  furniture  of  ancient  history 
and  modern  arrangement;  under  tall  palms  and 
r6se-shaded  lamps  flowers  grouped,  scenting  the 
air;  no  ugliness,  no  dissonance  of  outward  ob- 
jects to  mar  the  luxury  that  spelt  itself  divinely. 
Yet  the  crouching  figure  near  the  hearth  wept 
and  wept,  while  the  man  beside  her  reproved 
and  explained  with  easy  calmness. 

"  You  see,"  he  went  on,  in  his  sympathetic 
voice,  "  I  don't  mean  to  make  you  unhappy ; 
I  won't  if  you  '11  only  understand  me ;  but  one 
can't  force  one's  self  to  feel  what  one  does  n't  feel, 
don't  you  know  ?  " 

If  only  she  would  look  up,  his  eyes,  he  thought, 
could  do  the  old  work  of  conquest,  he  could 
61 


THE    DOUBT 

compel  submission.  But  her  slender  form,  in 
its  soft  satin  draperies,  remained  bowed  with 
grief;  he  had  only  the  back  of  a  golden-brown 
head,  heaving  with  baffling  abandonment,  to 
look  at. 

"  Myrtle,  this  is  absurd  —  really  you  are  be- 
having like  a  child." 

She  lifted  her  face  to  his  now  with  a  sudden 
movement  of  decision. 

"  You  love  someone  else,"  she  said,  "  not  one 
reason  you  've  given  me  is  a  true  one  —  not  that, 
nor  that,  nor  that,"  she  counted  on  her  fingers, 
regaining  composure  as  her  conviction  became 
more  assured  ;  "  the  only  possible  meaning  of  it 
all  —  you  love  someone  else." 

He  was  taken  aback.  He  had  relied  on  her 
vanity  to  dull  her  perception. 

"Your  suggestion  is  distinctly  wide  of  the 
mark.  Besides,  I  don't  see  —  " 

"  You  don't  see,"  she  interrupted,  with  a  tor- 
rent of  words  —  "  you  don't  see  that  it's  just  what 
makes  despair  for  me.  All  that  you  Ve  been 
telling  me  in  this  hour  is  nothing  now  I  feel  sure 
of  this.  You  said  mysterious  things  that  showed 

62 


THE    DOUBT 

you  were  thinking  about  her  —  as  you  talked  you 
had  flashes  in  your  eyes  —  you  must  have  been 
seeing  her  face ;  it 's  all  so  plain. 

"But  I  never  said  I  loved  any  one,"  he 
prevaricated. 

"  Why  need  you  say  ?  There  's  been  some- 
thing about  you  all  the  time  that  was  new.  Not 
your  kind  words  of  dismissal  —  horribly  kind  and 
formal  —  not  that  —  something  quite  different. 
The  woman  you  love  has  n't  given  you  herself 
as  I  have ;  she  has  excited  your  imagination,  and 
I  —  I  only  your  desire." 

She  had  risen,  this  woman,  with  her  tear- 
stained,  childish  face  upturned  to  the  man  who 
was  asking  his  freedom,  to  a  pathetic  dignity. 
It  cut  George  Farquhar  more  sharply  than  her 
hysterical  reproaches. 

"  Dear,  you  Ve  been  all  that 's  good  and  sweet," 
he  began. 

"  Good  and  sweet !  "  she  ejaculated.  "  You 
choose  your  epithets  for  me  ridiculously.  Can't 
you  see  that  I  Ve  loved  you  to  distraction,  and 
bored  you  horribly  as  the  result ;  that  my  brain, 
or  soul,  or  something  equally  abstract  could  n't 
63 


THE    DOUBT 

satisfy  you  —  in  short  that  I  'm  a  failure,  though 
'a  deuced  little  duck' — wasn't  that  your 
favourite  phrase — when  I  don't  make  a  goose 
of  myself." 

She  swayed  forward  in  the  chair,  she  touched 
his  knee  with  her  hand.  A  note  of  cajolery 
crept  into  the  last  words.  Farquhar  knew  that 
from  an  exalted  moment  she  was  dropping  into 
bantering  reminiscences.  At  all  costs  he  must 
check  her. 

"  Your  memory  is  vivid,"  he  said,  looking  im- 
patiently from  the  clock  on  the  mantelpiece  to 
his  watch.  "  I  Ve  said  many  things  when  I  felt 
inclined  to  say  them;  now  I  must  go  —  it's 
late." 

"  Oh,  please  not.  You  can't  call  half-past  nine 
late  ? " 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"  And  are  n't  you  coming  back  ?  " 

"Certainly  —  sometimes.  We  shall  be  the 
best  of  friends  ;  "  he  felt  his  freedom  near,  and 
added  warmth  to  his  words,  "don't  think  that 
I  shall  quite  forget  you." 

She  laughed  bitterly. 

64 


THE    DOUBT 

"  Do  you  think  she  will  remind  you  in  little 
things  ?  When  you  try  to  kiss  her,  will  she  put 
her  head  so "  —  she  suited  the  action  to  the 
words ;  "  when  you  say  *  How  I  love  you, 
carissima!'  will  she  purse  her  lips  so?  —  "the 
pantomime  was  repeated. 

Farquhar  was  taken  off  his  guard. 

"  Look  here,  Myrtle,"  he  retorted,  "  you 
shan't  speak  about  the  best  woman  in  the  world 
like  that." 

She  clapped  her  hands  with  nervous  energy, 
but  answered  him  through  set  teeth. 

"  You  've  given  yourself  away  at  last.  I  knew 
you  would.  ( The  best  woman  in  the  world ! ' 
It's  Mrs.  Neyland.  That's  your  continual 
description  of  her.  You  silly,  why  did  n't  you 
deck  her  out  with  vices  if  you  wanted  me  not  to 
know?  If  you  wanted  me  not  to  care"  —  her 
voice  trailed  off —  "  why  did  n't  you  kill  me  ?  " 

Those  wailing  sobs,  how  he  hated  them.  But 
Farquhar  had  reached  the  door ;  he  could  not  go 
back  as  consoler  —  nothing  would  do  any  good; 
he  had  got  over  the  worst,  and  it  was  absurd 
to  make  things  more  impossible  for  himself.  She 
65  5 


THE    DOUBT 

had  plenty  to  do,  plenty  to  amuse  herself  with, 
plenty  of  creature  comforts  to  soften  the  blank  of 
his  loss,  "  for  it  will  be  a  blank,"  he  said  to  him- 
self; as  he  ran  down  the  stairs  he  wondered  at  his 
own  popularity. 

There  was  a  keen  north-east  wind  blowing  in 
Grosvenor  Place,  but,  wrapped  in  his  heavy  over- 
coat, he  fought  against  it  till  he  reached  Picca- 
dilly ;  he  shrank  at  the  moment  from  the  seclusion 
of  a  cab. 

"  Paper  !  "  shouted  a  newsboy,  "  paper  !  " 
Farquhar's  eye  rested  carelessly  on  the  fluttering 
bill  in  the  little  blue  hand  :  "  Twenty  thousand 
mounted  men  wanted  for  South  Africa.  Sharp 
engagement." 

"That  beastly  war,"  he  muttered,  and  turned 
into  his  club. 

The  cheerful  carelessness  of  the  surroundings 
changed  his  sensations.  Thoughts  grew  agree- 
able again,  he  began  to  allow  his  imagination  to 
flutter  forward  to  the  morrow.  At  any  rate  the 
present  day  and  its  discomfort  was  ended  ;  to- 
morrow he  would  see  Mrs.  Neyland.  How  grace- 
ful she  was,  and,  without  prejudice  or  nonsense, 

66 


THE    DOUBT 

what  a  grip  of  things  she  had.  He  conjured 
up  a  vision  of  wide,  shadowy  eyes,  of  long- 
fingered  white  hands,  made  for  caresses  ;  he  recol- 
lected the  fascinating  turn  of  shoulder  and  hip  in 
a  characteristic  attitude,  he  spoke  grave  words  to 
himself  about  her,  but  in  thought  he  was  envel- 
oped by  the  rising  incense  of  her  magnetism. 
"  I  love  her,"  he  said.  "  Thank  the  Lord,  I  am 
free  to  love  her.  To-morrow  we  shall  be  a  little 
nearer ;  the  next  day  and  the  next  —  "  he  caught 
his^reath  quickly.  He  shaded  his  eyes  with  his 
hand  ;  it  seemed  as  if  he  would  throw  a  transitory 
shadow  over  a  dazzling  prospect. 

In  the  boudoir  in  Belgrave  Square  the  woman 
he  had  left  had  dried  her  eyes,  but  like  a  wild 
creature  she  wandered  to  and  fro,  tossing  the 
flowers  he  had  sent  her  from  their  vases,  sweep- 
ing his  gifts  from  their  place.  "  What  can  I  do, 
what  can  I  do  ?  "  she  cried,  and  nothing  gave 
answer  to  this  unbridled  misery. 

Presently,  shaping  a  plan,  she  ceased  to  walk. 
"  I  '11  go  to  Mrs.  Neyland.  I  don't  care  if  she 
knows  now.  I  '11  tell  her.  She  does  n't  love 
him  yet,  but  she  's  going  to  love  him,  and  she  's 
67 


THE    DOUBT 

so  splendid  —  he  won't  get  tired  of  her."  She 
uttered  her  thoughts  aloud,  and  the  tears  of  her 
despair  fell  again  at  this  culminating  idea. 

But  in  her  mind,  as  she  went  out,  she  had  no 
scheme  of  action.  Her  child-nature,  undisci- 
plined and  undeveloped,  called  out  for  consola- 
tion, that  was  all.  There  were  no  reserves  or 
self-pride  to  conquer  ;  she  wanted  to  hold  out  her 
arms  to  any  one  who  could  offer  escape  from  pain 
and  say,  "  I  can't  bear  it  —  make  me  happy  again. 
He  made  me  so  happy  while  he  played  with  me." 

"  Yes  —  Mrs.  Neyland  is  at  home." 
The  tall  footman,  as  he  answered,  looked  at  her 
enquiringly.  She  clung  to  her  scarlet  cloak  and 
hood  that  he  tried  to  relieve  her  of;  the  heavy 
velvet  seemed  a  sort  of  armour  of  defence ;  her 
tea-gown  beneath,  she  fancied,  must  look  drenched 
with  tell-tale  tears.  Up  the  wide  marble  stairs, 
hung  with  masterpieces  of  Burne-Jones's  women 
of  romance  —  pale  women  of  unsatisfied  passion 
—  she  flitted  nervously  by  her  guide. 

On  the  landing  the  servant  passed  her  quickly, 
and  entered  a  room  on  the  right.  She  heard  a 

68 


THE    DOUBT 

voice  say  :  "  Did  n't  you  understand,  Edward,  I 
could  not  see  any  one  ?  I  really  must  —  "  The 
broken  sentence  augured  disappointment.  Myrtle 
felt  that  she  had  reached  a  gate  of  deliverance ; 
she  could  not  at  any  one's  bidding  turn  back. 
She  hurried  forward,  and  she  and  Mrs.  Neyland 
faced  each  other :  one  just  inside  the  threshold  of 
vthe  room,  the  other  still  outside. 

"  You  want  to  see  me  ?  Come  in.  I  'm  afraid 
you  '11  find  me  in  great  disorder.  I  'm  sorting 
my  books ;  one  so  rarely  gets  a  spare  evening." 
Mrs.  Neyland  rubbed  her  dusty  fingers  on  her 
lace  handkerchief,  waiting,  expecting  an  expla- 
nation. 

They  knew  each  other  so  slightly,  these  two, 
standing  together  in  the  high,  faintly-lighted 
room.  On  the  floor,  on  the  sofa,  on  every  avail- 
able chair,  books  lay  heaped.  The  fire  gave  out 
little  heat ;  it  must  have  been  recently  lighted. 
Audrey  Neyland  had  evidently  found  a  haven 
for  industry  in  a  disused  drav/ing-room.  She 
herself,  tall  above  the  average,  in  a  long  mauve 
bedroom  wrapper,  her  auburn  hair  framing  a 
clear-cut  face  and  serious  hazel  eyes,  seemed  to 
69 


THE    DOUBT 

have  been  recalled  from  dreams  and  visions,  from 
blessed  content,  to  talk  to  this  woman  who  had 
intruded  so  strangely  upon  her  solitude  ;  a  woman 
eight  years  younger  than  herself,  about  whom 
she  had  sometimes  smiled  with  gayer  companions, 
in  her  gentle,  absent-minded  way,  as  society's 
prettiest  feather-headed  chatterbox.  Yet  in  her 
attention  now  she  was  perfectly  civil. 

"  I  wanted  to  see  you  dreadfully,"  Myrtle 
burst  out. 

"Yes?" 

"  Will  you  mind  what  I  'm  going  to  say  ?  " 

"  But  why  should  I  ?  " 

They  sat  down,  Mrs.  Neyland  in  a  high 
Elizabethan  chair,  against  which  her  hand  leant 
a  little  wearily. 

"  I  'm  perfectly  miserable,"  Myrtle  gasped. 
"  George  Farquhar  does  n't  love  me  any  more. 
I  know  he  cares  for  you." 

Like  the  first  rumble  of  a  thunder-storm  over 
sleeping  mountains  the  broken  words  of  this  con- 
fession struck  upon  Audrey's  heart  ominously. 
They  crashed  upon  her  dreams  and  dispelled 
them.  Her  face,  ordinarily  pale,  had  faded  to  an 

70 


THE    DOUBT 

ashy  white ;  she  needed  deep  resource  not  to  be 
driven  to  self-betrayal. 

"Why  do  you  come  and  say  these  things?" 
she  answered  in  a  slow,  faint  voice.  "  Don't  you 
think  it  is  a  mistake  ?  " 

"  If  you  were  as  wretched  as  I  am  you  'd  think 
nothing  a  mistake  except  to  go  on  being  wretched. 
I  felt  if  I  told  you,  you  'd  be  sorry,  and  I  'd  feel 
happier.  You  won't  let  George  make  love  to 
yqu  ?  " 

The  inquisitive  eyes  fixed  upon  Mrs.  Neyland's 
face  danced  imploringly.  In  her  naive  frankness 
Myrtle  was  seeking  comfort  for  herself.  Audrey 
knew  that  she  would  speedily  find  it. 

With  sudden  strength  of  mind  she  asked : 

"  What  has  George  Farquhar  been  to  you  ?  " 

Myrtle  dissolved  into  tears. 

"  Everything.  I  know  you  '11  despise  me,  but 
I  've  never  been  joyful  except  with  him.  It 
did  n't  seem  to  matter,  one  was  so  glad.  You 
don't  know  him  very  well  yet,  but  he 's  so  clever, 
so  kind.  He  was  awfully  kind  to  me,  —  nobody 
else  was.  They  thought  me  stupid,  extravagant, 
he  never  said  I  was  either  —  such  a  blessing! 


THE    DOUBT 

But  I  really  believe  I  am  stupid  ;  I  can't  learn, 
I  can't  change,  I  only  want  to  be  happy.  Now 
he  's  gone  there  's  nothing  left." 

"  Nothing  left !  "  said  Mrs.  Neyland,  interrupt- 
ing this  torrent  of  sobs  and  words.  "  Of  course, 
one  can't  judge  for  other  people.  You  seem  to 
have  a  great  deal  still.  Your  —  " 

"  Please  don't  make  a  list,"  Myrtle  interposed. 
"  Nothing  counts." 

"  But  things  have  to  count,  have  n't  they  ?  " 

"No,  not  really."  Myrtle  shrugged  her 
shoulders  defiantly.  "  I  suppose  I  shall  go  to 
the  devil." 

"  But  that 's  nonsense." 

"  I  dare  say  it  sounds  nonsense,  but  how  is  one 
to  be  happy ?  I'm  useless  at  home.  I  think  I 
am  like  one  of  the  children.  I  want  some  one  to 
hold  my  hand  and  then  I  might  get  along  some- 
how " —  she  paused.  "Mrs.  Neyland,  won't 
you  persuade  George  Farquhar  to  come  back  to 
me?  He  would  do  anything  you  asked." 

The  ghost  of  a  smile  crossed  Audrey's  face. 
There  was  pathos  in  this  grotesque  conception  of 
the  emotions  and  their  career.  Was  it  possible 

72 


THE    DOUBT 

to  believe  that  the  love  that  fled  could  return 
at  bidding;  that  the  thing  overpast  could  be 
again.  She  looked  curiously  at  her  questioner, 
measuring  her  own  love  for  George  Farquhar  and 
his  for  her  against  the  feeling  that  all  apart  from  her 
had  tied  him  to  this  woman ;  wondering  jealously 
if,  even  for  one  half-hour,  more  than  the  mere 
attraction  of  face  and  figure  had  kept  him  captive. 
Fgr,  strong,  self-reliant,  pure  in  nature  as  she  natu- 
rally was,  her  intellect  crying  out  at  the  lack  of 
logic  in  the  thing,  over  her  own  soul  the  fascina- 
tion of  the  same  man  had  swept.  She  asked  no 
rescue,  no  check,  to  what  seemed  to  her  inevitable ; 
"  For  life  —  for  death  "  quivered  unspoken  words 
upon  her  lips  when  they  met.  Now  before  the 
last  revelation,  which  a  few  hours  later  would 
have  sealed  her  fate,  all  unasked,  all  undesired, 
salvation  had  come.  Brick  by  brick,  built  by  the 
childish  confession  of  this  deserted  woman,  a 
bridge  of  deliverance  spanned  the  torrent  of  her 
course ;  "  Come  "  those  tearful  eyes,  those  bab- 
bled confidences  seemed  to  say  to  her,  "  come 
and  walk  with  me  all  the  way  —  I  trust  you  so." 

Audrey  moved  in  her  chair  as  if  in  pain,  lean- 
73 


THE    DOUBT 

ing  forward  a  little  and  looking  into  the  dying 
embers  of  the  fire. 

"I  don't  think  that  George  Farquhar  will  do 
what  he  does  n't  wish  to,"  she  said,  gathering  her 
wits  to  an  assertion  that  voiced  a  presentiment. 
"  I  shall  see  him  to-morrow  —  then  he  's  going 
away  for  a  long  time  —  to  the  war,  I  think." 

"  To  the  war  !  "  ejaculated  Myrtle. 

"  Do  you  think  that  strange  ?  I  think  most 
surely  he  will  go." 

There  was  relief  in  the  answer. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind.  I  only  thought  he  hated 
the  idea.  Perhaps  when  he  comes  back  he  '11  be 
fond  of  me  again.  There's  always  that  hope. 
Better  the  certainty  that  he  's  gone  than  that  he 's 
here  and  does  n't  care.  But.,  even  if  he  has  n't 
told  you  so,  I  'm  sure  he 's  in  love  with  you." 

"  Your  imagination  runs  away  with  you.  If 
he 's  finished  loving  you,  as  you  say,  he  will  not 
begin  loving  me.  You  told  me  he  was  clever." 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  He  loves 
you  differently.  It's  difficult  to  explain,  isn't 
it  ?  I  don't  want  the  sort  of  love  he  gives  you. 
If  I  could  only  keep  him  as  he  used  to  be.  But 

74 


THE    DOUBT 

I  don't  suppose  it  would  be  any  use  talking  to 
him  about  me.  He  dropped  me  like  a  stone  at 
the  bottom  of  a  well  to-night.  He  won't  fish  me 
out  again." 

Audrey  stooped  to  find  a  book. 

"  Was  it  only  to-night  ?  "  she  faltered,  before 
raising  her  head. 

"Yes,  only  to-night  he  told  me  straight;  he 
Jias  not  been  the  same  for  a  week  —  oh,  about  a 
fortnight,  I  think." 

To  one  of  these  women  the  agony  of  this  inter- 
view demanded  imperatively  its  close. 

"  Won't  you  go  home  now,"  she  begged.  "  I 
expect  you  sleep  well.  In  the  morning  things 
won't  seem  so  bad  ;  in  time  you  will  forget  him." 

"  Forget  him  !  "  Myrtle  cried,  "oh,  I  can't  for- 
get him,  only,  Mrs.  Neyland,  if  it  does  seem 
better  in  the  morning,  and  I  don't  see  him  any 
more,  I  shall  begin  flirting.  I  know  I  might  go 
all  wrong  again — unless  —  unless  you  're  friends 
with  me.  I  do  want  to  be  friends  with  you." 

"How  can  I  help  you  ?  " 

"  Ever  so  much.  You  're  so  splendid  about 
George.  I  never  thought  you  'd  be  like  that. 
75 


THE    DOUBT 

I  thought  you  'd  be  cross.  If  you  would  be 
friends  I  might  be  good ;  it  would  be  worth 
while."  She  fell  on  her  knees  impulsively  by  the 
almost  rigid  figure.  Involuntarily  the  elder 
woman  shuddered.  She  saw  her  course  so 
clearly  ;  outlined  and  unavoidable.  Mentally  she 
stepped  on  to  it,  and  grew  old  in  the  effort. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  forcing  herself  to  a 
bantering  tenderness,  while  her  body,  tense  and 
unwilling,  drew  away  from  this  clinging  creature, 
"  I  can't  be  Father  Confessor  and  Mother  Su- 
perior all  in  one.  But  why  should  n't  we  be 
friends  ?  Come,"  she  said,  raising  her,  "  it  '11 
be  all  right." 

"  You  're  an  angel  !  "  —  the  exclamation  was 
full  of  new  satisfaction,  "  it  '11  be  a  sell  for  George. 
He  'd  never  expect  a  thing  of  this  sort,  would 
he  ?  "  But  to  such  a  query  Audrey  could  give 
no  reply.  She  rose  silently,  and  together  they 
went  down  the  stairs.  They  parted  with  a  kiss. 

The  next  day,  without  ceremony  or  question, 
the  doors  were  opened  to  George  Farquhar.  The 
marble  stairs,  as  he  hurried  up  them  in  those  first 
minutes  of  lamplight,  seemed  to  him  as  steps  to 

76 


THE    DOUBT 

heaven.  Mrs.  Neyland's  boudoir  door  was  ajar  ; 
unannounced  he  pushed  it  open.  She  sat  within 
on  the  soft  green  cushions  of  the  window-seat, 
peering  through  the  latticed  panes  into  the  grey- 
ness  of  a  January  twilight. 

"  Audrey,"  he  said,  his  eager  voice  anticipating 
her  greeting,  "  this  day  has  been  interminable." 

"  Has  it  ?  "  She  turned  to  him  wearily,  indi- 
cating no  gladness. 

Why  did  she  sit  there,  he  thought,  so  far  from 
him.  Was  it  to  urge  him  the  quicker  to  her  side  ? 
Was  it  to  keep  him  in  suspense  ?  His  heart  was 
beating  to  suffocation,  he  could  not  answer  his 
own  self-questioning.  As  he  remained  standing, 
she  rose,  and  came  to  him.  She  put  her  hand  on 
his  arm. 

"  Do  you  remember  yesterday  ?  You  said  you 
knew  something  was  imminent  for  both  of  us.  I 
know  now  what  that  something  was  —  the  end. 
Will  you  kiss  me  once  ? " 

The  finish  of  her  sentence  struck  him  with 
passionate  force.  He  forgot  the  enigmatical 
beginning. 

Kiss  her  —  his  arms  were  around  her,  his  lips 
77 


THE    DOUBT 

on  hers.  Surely  thus  he  reached  the  fulness  of 
experience,  this  alone  was  first  and  perfect  love  ; 
all  else  the  years  had  held  grew  meaningless. 

She  threw  back  her  head  suddenly  and  looked 
him  in  the  eyes. 

"  I  'm  glad  I  love  you,"  she  said,  "  glad  I  love 
you  so  dearly,  because  it  makes  it  easier  for  me 
to  tell  you  the  truth."  Their  arms  fell  apart  as 
she  spoke,  and  Farquhar  felt  instantly  that  there 
awaited  him  a  proscription. 

"  Your  friend  was  here  last  night,"  Audrey 
went  on.  "  I  'm  sorry  you  thought  well  to 
make  her  unhappy." 

So  this  was  the  bolt  from  the  blue.  He 
ground  his  teeth.  Myrtle  had  stolen  her  re- 
venge. She  had  known  the  woman  she  would 
have  to  deal  with,  simply  from  his  credentials ; 
she  had  poured  out  her  griefs  and  her  wrongs 
to  gain  her  sympathy.  An  insane  desire  seized 
him  that  he  had  taken  her  at  her  word  and  killed 
her  before  he  left  her. 

"  How  dare  she,"  he  burst  forth,  "  how  dare 
she  come  to  you.  I  've  treated  her  better  than 
any  other  man  would  have  done.  You  know  I 

78 


THE    DOUBT 

don't  love  her,  you  know  —  "     Audrey  stopped 
him  with  an  imploring  movement. 

"  Don't  make  excuses.  I  was  going  to  tell  you 
that  I  understood  quite  well  without  any  explana- 
tion; at  least  I  mean  to  understand.  I'm  sure 
you  love  me  now,  sure  to  the  tips  of  my  fingers, 
to  the  bottom  of  my  heart.  I  want  to  keep  you 
where  I  put  you,  right  up  there  in  my  estima- 
vtion"  —  she  lifted  her  hand  —  "leave  me  my 
blessed  illusions.  Don't  make  excuses." 

He  stood  with  lowering  brow,  silent,  helpless 
at  her  command. 

"  You  see,  nothing  matters  for  myself,  but  for 
her  everything  matters.  She  's  pretty,  she  's  silly, 
she  is  n't  half  awake ;  she  's  simply  made  for  a 
man's  light  fancy,  just  as  she  was  for  yours. 
I  can't  leave  her,  now  I  know  the  truth,  can  I  ? " 

"You're  not  going  to  tell  me,"  he  cried 
hoarsely,  "  that  you  will  give  me  up  because  she 
may  go  to  the  devil  if  you  don't?" 

"  Yes." 

"  What  can  she  feel  for  good  or  bad,  really  ? 
It  will  go  for  nothing,  your  sacrifice,  and  you'll 
certainly  ruin  me," 
79 


THE    DOUBT 

Audrey  shook  her  head  :  "  No,"  she  said,  "  I 
shan't  do  that." 

"  But  how  will  you  help  ?"  he  asked  desperately. 

"  I  'm  going  to  be  her  friend.  I  shall  try  and 
paint  in  the  details  to  her  life  —  it's  crude  out- 
line at  present." 

"  You  don't  care  about  her." 

"  Why  not?      She  is  my  redemption." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  insisted. 

"  I  mean  that  if  it  had  n't  been  for  her  I  should 
have  done  all  that  you  wished.  There  was  noth- 
ing to  hold  me  back  from  anything.  I  Ve  had 
only  unhappiness  in  my  life.  It  was  so  easy  to 
be  imposed  upon  by  happiness." 

"  And  I  love  you  —  I  love  you,"  he  cried  in 
torture. 

"  You  know,"  she  went  on,  as  if  afraid  of  keep- 
ing anything  in  reserve  at  this  moment  of  renun- 
ciation, "  things  had  no  meaning  till  you  came ; 
all  the  things  I  thought  I  liked  gave  no  answer 
to  the  questioning  in  my  heart." 

"  Audrey,"  he  implored,  "  don't,  for  God's 
sake,  tell  me  this !  Don't  show  me  Paradise  to 

make  it  a  mockery  to  me." 

80 


THE    DOUBT 

"  I  merely  want  you  to  know,"  she  continued, 
unheeding,  "  that  it  is  n't  exactly  prudery,  or  even 
principle,  that  keeps  me  from  you  ;  it  is  some- 
thing quite  different  —  so  much  greater,  so 
much  stronger.  Now,  while  I  tell  you  all  this, 
you  seem  quite  far  away.  I  suppose  I  am  on 
the  bridge  she  made  for  me  ;  I  can't  get  off  it  if 
I  would." 

He  looked  across  at  her  with  troubled  eyes. 
For  another  woman's  conversion  he  would  have 
summoned  the  power  of  his  personality  to  aid. 
Remonstrances,  threats,  caresses,  they  had  done 
their  work  before,  in  minor  crises,  but  in  a 
situation  such  as  this  they  were  blunted  — 
useless.  In  spite  of  her  love  for  him  this 
woman  could  not  be  influenced,  as  he  could  in- 
fluence ;  she  had  dominion  over  a  spiritual  exal- 
tation which  carried  all  base  things  before  it,  and 
from  her  reacted  upon  him,  to  lift  him,  at  least 
for  the  time,  with  all  his  cynical  self-will  to  the 
level  of  her  resolution,  of  her  sacrifice,  with  irre- 
sistible force.  Never  had  he  dreamed  such  suf- 
fering possible,  —  this  awakening  of  his  slothful 

soul  as  it  struggled  through  its  bars  to  meet  hers. 
81  6 


THE    DOUBT 

"  What  do  you  wish  me  to  do  ?  "  he  asked 
painfully  at  last. 

Audrey  fixed  her  great  eyes  upon  him.  "  She 
asked  me  to  send  you  back  to  her,"  she  said. 

He  made  a  movement  of  indignation. 

"  And  you  expect  me  to  do  this  ?  God,  if 
she  were  the  last  woman  in  the  world,  if  she 
were  —  " 

She  interrupted  him.  "  Hush,  I  expect  no 
such  thing ;  the  impossibility  of  it  seems  as  cer- 
tain to  me  as  it  does  to  you.  I  've  only  given 
my  message." 

"  To  see  what  I  would  say  ?  "  he  retorted. 

"  Perhaps." 

"  I  shall  go  to  the  war  ;  I  shall  pray  that  every 
bullet  that  is  fired  will  spot  me,"  he  cried  inco- 
herently. 

"  It  would  be  braver  to  live,"  she  answered, 
white  to  the  lips. 

He  was  on  his  knees  now.  He  held  her  hand 
and  kissed  it  desperately. 

"  Audrey,  have  mercy  !     Is  there  no  hope  ? " 

"  Yes,  a  hope  with  wings." 

"  I  love  you  so,"  he  repeated. 

82 


THE    DOUBT 

"And  I  you."  She  touched  his  wavy  black 
hair  with  lingering  tenderness. 

"  Why  are  you  changing  me  ?  "  he  groaned, 
"why  are  you  making  me  ashamed  of  all  I've 
done  —  of  all  I  've  wanted  to  do?" 

A  sudden  gladness  irradiated  her  face;  it 
seemed  as  if  angels,  comfort-laden,  were  wheeling 
about  their  desolation.  She  must  give  him 
v courage,  he  whose  weakness  had  been  his  un- 
doing. 

"Do  you  see  now  that  duty  is  stronger  than 
life  or  death,"  she  said,  "  and  that  love's  duty  is 
strongest  of  all  ?  " 

How  could  his  lips  refute  what  his  wretched 
heart  echoed.  He  rose  to  his  feet  without  a 
word.  The  newsboy's  cry  of  fresh  war-news 
floated  up  to  them,  the  cabs  dashed  past  outside, 
the  noises  of  the  street  reached  them  ;  expressions 
of  all  the  commonplace  things  of  commonplace 
life  that  waited  to  prey  upon  their  purpose.  But 
in  this  moment  of  triumphant  self-abnegation  they 
stood  guarded. 

"  I  always  thought  you  a  good  woman,"  he 
said  at  last  with  a  passionate  reverence  in  his 
83 


THE    DOUBT 

voice;  "whatever  you  had  done  I  should  have 
thought  you  a  good  woman  —  but  I  verily 
believe  your  goodness  will  make  me  a  different 
man." 

"  If  that  is  true,"  she  answered,  simply,  "  you 
are  giving  me  a  great  victory." 


"TILL    SEVENTY   TIMES    SEVEN" 

"When  the  sands  on  the  seashore  nourish 

Red  clover  and  yellow  corn  ; 
When  figs  on  the  thistle  flourish, 

And  grapes  grow  thick  on  the  thorn ; 
When  the  dead  branch,  blighted  and  blasted, 

Puts  forth  green  leaves  in  the  Spring, 
Then  the  dream  that  life  has  outcasted 

Dead  comfort  to  life  may  bring." 


"TILL  SEVENTY  TIMES  SEVEN" 
RECKON  it's  a  case  of 
1  kiss  and  good-bye  '  at  last, 
little  girl.  Life 's  been  a 
deuced  sight  more  comfort- 
able these  six  months  at 
Hallows  Creek  than  I  Ve 
ever  known  it,  but  it  is 
plain  the  place  is  getting  too  hot  to  hold  me.  I 
think  the  game  is  pretty  well  played  out ;  in 
future  you  '11  have  to  cut  the  cards  for  some 
luckier  fellow.  Eh,  Rosette  ?  " 

The  man  had  thrown  one  arm  over  the  high 
rail  of  the  paling  against  which  he  was  leaning, 
and  chipped  at  the  hard  wood  with  his  knife  to 
hide  his  embarrassment. 

The  answer  he  waited  for  was  long  in  coming. 
There  was  scorn  in  the  girl's  swimming  eyes  as 
she  looked  at  him. 

"  So  you  're  off,"  she  said  at  last. 
"  If  I  want  to  keep  a  whole  skin  on  my  body," 
he  expostulated;  "you   know   my  position  here 
with  Malone ;  Harry  might  have  been  a  better 
pal." 

She  flushed. 
87 


"TILL   SEVENTY    TIMES    SEVEN" 

"  He  's  been  as  good  a  pal  as  you  'd  let  him 
be.  You  began  his  ruin  —  Seth  Malone  is  about 
finishing  it." 

"  Look  here,"  he  broke  in. 

But  she  silenced  him. 

"  Be  honest.  I  might  have  done  some  good 
with  my  boy  a  year  ago.  You  came  here  not  to 
help  me  but  to  steal  my  power  and  to  make  him 
your  cat's-paw.  What  does  it  matter  to  you  that 
I  love  my  brother,  and  that  by  loving  you  I  'm 
untrue  to  him  ?  What 's  it  matter  to  you  the 
wreck  of  both  our  lives,  as  long  as  you  get  off 
scot-free.  Ah,  go  !  — go  !  "  She  burst  into  con- 
vulsive sobbing. 

Her  weakness  gave  him  renewed  self-assurance. 

"So  you  class  me  with  that  shady  Melbourne 
stranger  who  's  played  all  the  mischief.  Thank 
you.  You  women  are  extraordinary.  In  your 
hearts  you  make  us  kings,  then  curse  us  with 
your  mouths  as  if  the  devil  were  in  us." 

"  No  difference  between  you  and  Seth  Malone, 
in  your  ways,  in  your  principles,"  she  exclaimed 
at  his  taunt. 

"  Principles  be  hanged." 

88 


"TILL    SEVENTY   TIMES    SEVEN" 

He  picked  up  his  slouch  hat  from  the  ground, 
put  it  on  and  lit  his  pipe :  then  his  arm  stole 
round  her  waist. 

"  Look  here,  little  girl,  be  fair." 

She  made  an  effort  to  remove  his  arm,  but  he 
kept  it  close ;  in  time  her  head  sank  against  his 
shoulder. 

"  How  shall  I  live  without  you  ? "  she  said 
desperately. 

"Ah,  that's  the  question,"  he  answered  gravely, 
as  if  he  had  found  it  suddenly  important.  "  You 
know  well  enough  that  if  I  had  sixpence  in  my 
pocket  or  the  prospect  of  a  roof  we  'd  share  it. 
Will  you  believe  me  that  if  I  get  a  start  again  in 
Old  England,  or  anywhere,  I'll  come  back  and 
marry  you  ?  Swear  you  believe  it !  " 

She  nodded,  only  half  convinced. 

It  was  a  strange  scene  this.  The  telling  of  an 
old  story  on  this  desolate  station  in  Australia  at 
the  moment  of  sunrise. 

The  man  was  young  and  comely,  but  for  pre- 
mature coarseness  of  mouth  and  nose ;  the  girl 
was  younger,  large-eyed,  clean-cut  in  limb  and 
feature,  but  pale  as  a  ghost  in  the  uncertain  light. 
89 


"TILL   SEVENTY    TIMES    SEVEN" 

The  wooded  hill  upon  which  they  stood  dropped 
steeply  into  the  gully.  There  the  tree-ferns 
spread  graceful  fronds  and  the  darker  foliage  of 
the  sassafras  shadowed  them.  A  brook  mean- 
dered like  a  silver  ribbon  between  the  cliffs ; 
down  in  the  plain  among  the  orange  groves  it 
widened  into  a  river.  The  awakening  birds  were 
twittering  —  the  mocking  note  of  the  jackass, 
the  "caw"  of  the  parrot,  sounded  now  and  then 
in  the  gum  trees,  and  still  at  such  an  hour  of 
freshness  and  peace  could  be  heard  the  murmur 
of  men's  voices,  the  popping  of  corks  in  the 
drinking  saloon  a  hundred  yards  away. 

"Then  it  is  to-night,  Jim,"  she  said,  raising 
her  eyes  to  his  at  last.  "  Quite  certain  to-night  ?  " 

"Certain,"  he  answered  straightening  himself; 
"  and  if  in  the  interval  I  can  fill  my  pocket  from 
that  thief  Malone's,  so  much  the  better." 

She  shivered  and  walked  away  from  him.  He 
called  her  back. 

"Look,  Rosette,"  he  said,  in  atone  of  genuine 
emotion,  "it's  hard  lines  for  you  and  me,  but 
don't  think  me  a  cur  if  I  play  up  there  to- 
night "  —  he  jerked  his  arm  over  his  shoulder ; 

90 


"TILL  SEVENTY  TIMES  SEVEN" 
"  I  must.  Come,"  he  added,  "  bring  me  luck. 
Stand  beside  me  and  sing  that  'Good-bye'  I 
like.  Do  you  know  your  voice  has  more  power 
over  me  than  your  eyes,  it  '11  let  me  go  a  better 
man.  Promise." 

"  What  are  you  asking  me  ?  " 

"  Everything." 

"  And  I  'd  give  you  everything,"  she  cried  out 
passionately. 

Then  he  kissed  her. 

The  movement  in  the  tavern  had  ceased  at 
last;  as  she  went  slowly  home  the  sky  was 
golden.  Down  in  the  painted  verandah  dark- 
ened by  its  overgrowth  of  jessamine  and  clem- 
atis, stretched  at  full  length  on  the  narrow 
bench,  two  figures  lay  in  deep  sleep.  Unkempt, 
exhausted,  they  had  thrown  themselves  carelessly 
there,  for  neither  Harry  Paulevrer  nor  Seth 
Malone,  the  fever  of  their  gambling  upon  them, 
had  slept  in  bed  for  nights  past. 

Rosette  khelt  by  her  brother's  huddled  figure 
and  her  tears  rained  upon  his  face.  He  was  so 
piteously  young,  he  was  buying  his  experience  at 
such  an  awful  price.  She  had  followed  him  from 


"TILL   SEVENTY    TIMES   SEVEN" 

Melbourne  to  this  wild  loneliness ;  she  had  tried 
to  be  a  mother  to  him,  to  give  strength  to  him,  to 
advise  him  and  slave  for  him.  She  adored  him. 
All  in  vain ;  he  was  tossed  like  a  plaything  be- 
tween the  influence  of  two  bad  men,  strangers  to 
his  past ;  one  of  these  men  she  loved,  the  other 
she  hated.  She  had  been  proud  of  Harry  once; 
he  was  strong  and  active,  his  character  clean,  his 
face  open,  even  pure.  Now  as  she  looked  at 
him  his  eyes  seemed  swollen,  his  mouth  had 
fallen  into  loose  restless  lines,  his  golden  curls 
were  matted  with  neglect. 

She  let  her  head  fall  upon  his  breast. 

"  If  only  the  world  would  change,"  she  moaned, 
"  or  that  we  could  all  die."  And  the  sun,  as  if 
to  mock  her,  crept  in  unclouded  brilliance  higher 
into  the  heavens. 

After  a  time  she  heard  the  jolting  of  the  mail- 
buggy  on  the  rough  track.  It  came  into  sight 
drawn  by  an  undersized  team  and  clothing  the 
wattle  and  the  wild  cherry  trees  in  the  garden 
with  dust.  The  noise  disturbed  the  sleepers. 

Jim  Escrick  came  out  from  the  house,  and 
Malone  turned  over,  stretched  out  his  bony 

92 


"TILL  SEVENTY  TIMES  SEVEN" 
arms,  kicked  off  his  shoes,  and  stood  up,  six 
foot  two  in  his  dirty  socks.  His  lips,  cruelly 
narrow,  seemed  to  fall  inwards  in  his  curious 
uncanny  face ;  a  yellow,  wrinkled  forehead  sloped 
backward  from  narrow  brows  to  where  the  sandy 
hair,  already  sprinkled  with  grey,  grew  in  short 
erratic  tufts  over  his  long  skull,  like  pampas  on  a 
prairie. 

"  Waal,  waal,  that 's  quare,"  he  said,  winking 
from  one  to  the  other  of  his  unappreciative 
audience,  "  very  quare,  indeed ;  a  regular  excar- 
shion  sort  of  a  dream,  too,  all  along  of  card- 
playin'  and  brandy.  There  was  the  King  of 
Diamonds,  Miss,  a  very  rum  tarn-out,  oncom- 
mon  like  that  cove  over  yonder  "  —  Jim  became 
attentive  —  "a  runnin'  off  with  the  Queen  of 
Hearts  —  a  straight  tip  that,  I  reckon.  Waal, 
hop,  hop,  comes  the  Knave  of  Clubs,  that  was 
trumps,  sees  them  half  way  across  the  Paramatta 
River —  f  Ho,  ho  !'  says  he."  Malone  assumed 
a  peculiar  expression,  but  the  rest  of  the  sentence 
was  strangled  in  its  birth ;  he  had  barely  time  to 
spring  aside  to  avoid  the  rapid  blow  that  cleft  the 
air. 
93 


"TILL    SEVENTY    TIMES    SEVEN" 

"  What 's  that  for,  mate  ?  "  he  drawled,  clench- 
ing and  unclenching  his  claw-like  left  hand,  but 
displaying  perfect  self-control  before  this  fierce 
assault.  "  Dreams  is  dreams,  as  facts  is  facts  — 
you  pay  your  money  —  if  you  can  —  and  you 
takes  your  choice.  Sonny,"  and  he  shook  the 
still  yawning  Harry  by  the  shoulder,  "  wake  up  ; 
here's  a  chap  blind  drunk  at  seven  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  with  a  desire  for  tarning  our  brain-pans 
into  pulp." 

"  You  lying  dog,"  shouted  Jim,  "  do  you  think 
I  don't  understand  your  low  dodges  ?  " 

"  Shut  up,"  said  Harry,  "  don't  make  such  a 
d — d  noise." 

"  Noise  !  it 's  more  than  a  noise  !  "  Escrick 
set  his  teeth.  "  Can't  you  see  where  the  brute  's 
driving  you  —  you  fool  Paulevrer?" 

"  I  'm  not  in  your  leading-strings,  thanks. 
Malone  's  as  good  a  right  to  speak  as  you  ;  I  've 
no  reason  to  believe  you  're  a  better  sort.  If 
you  go  on  taking  the  law  into  your  own  hands, 
Escrick,  the  sooner  you  leave  the  place  the 
better." 

Jim  assumed  a  sarcastic  tone.  "  There 's 

94 


"TILL  SEVENTY  TIMES  SEVEN" 
gratitude.  Do  you  think  without  your  asking  I 
should  have  wasted  six  months  trying  to  make 
a  cub  like  you  find  your  level  in  the  world, 
you  think  you  're  the  only  one  to  draw  a  prize  in 
this  infernal  lottery  of  existence.  Well,  mark 
me,  you  '11  draw  something  else  presently  and 
not  from  me." 

He  threw  the  bitter  words  at  the  young  fellow, 
and  stood  with  folded  arms  waiting  their  effect. 
Harry,  white  with  anger,  menaced  him. 

"  You  clear  out,"  he  said,  raising  his  arm, 
"  d'  ye  hear  me.  Clear  out." 

But  Escrick  did  not  move  —  not  yet  the  mo- 
ment for  his  obedience. 

Then  Harry  made  to  fling  himself  upon  him, 
but  Rosette  was  between  them.  She  hung  with 
all  the  weight  of  her  strong  young  body  against 
her  brother ;  she  kept  them  by  sheer  force  apart, 
and  gave  them  both  a  queer  hesitation. 

"  You  must  n't,"  she  gasped  ;  "  Jim  's  not 
speaking  truth.  He  's  only  jealous  of  Malone. 
You  were  such  pals  till  he  came.  Don't  strike 
him  now,  Harry,  for  pity's  sake.  Jim,"  she 
stamped  her  foot,  "  explain  to  him,  can't  you  ?  " 
95 


"TILL    SEVENTY    TIMES    SEVEN" 

"What's  there  to  explain,"  said  Jim,  laconi- 
cally. "  I  don't  want  to  quarrel  with  your 
brother." 

"  And  he  does  n't  want  to  quarrel  with  you 
—  say  it,  Harry,"  she  insisted. 

"  What 's  there  to  say,"  he  answered  sullenly, 
as  the  other  had  answered.  But  the  force  of  his 
anger  had  weakened  ;  he  felt  the  thrill  of  this  girl's 
entreaty.  Before  the  failure  of  his  youth's  bright 
promise,  she  had  been  his  day-star.  He  was 
making  a  mess  of  her  life  pretty  freely  now ;  he 
had  sense  enough  to  know  that,  and  conscience 
enough  at  this  crisis  to  spare  her  further  misery. 

"  Friends,  then,"  he  said,  and  looked  across  at 
Escrick. 

Jim  looked  at  Rosette,  and  cast  the  remaining 
shred  of  his  better  nature  into  the  scale  with  his 
selfish  love  for  her.  Together  they  outweighed 
his  irritation  and  insolence. 

Malone,  who  had  with  intention  shifted  the 
odium  of  this  quarrel  entirely  off  his  own 
shoulders,  drank  a  glass  of  whiskey  in  lieu  of 
breakfast,  leaning  against  the  open  window ; 
presently  the  tumbler  slipped  through  his  fin- 

96 


"TILL    SEVENTY    TIMES    SEVEN" 
gers,  and  broke  on  the  tiles  at   his  feet.     Over 
the    girl's    bowed    head    the    young    men    had 
clasped  hands. 

The  sunset  had  faded  into  the  clear,  pale  sky 
of  twilight,  when  four  riders,  their  jaded  horses 
stumbling  along,  returned  from  a  day's  round 

Rosette,  unable  to  bear  the  loneliness  of  the 
house,  had  gone  out  with  the  others.  She  rode 
now  beside  Jim  Escrick  ;  his  arm  hung  loosely 
over  her  white  pony's  neck,  his  dark,  reckless  eyes 
searched  hers. 

"  Don't  be  low,  little  one,  I  'm  not  worth 
grieving  over." 

"  No,"  she  said,  looking  up  at  the  first  stars. 

"  But  you  '11  sing,  won't  you,"  he  reminded 
her ;  "  I  count  on  it." 

"  I  '11  sing,"  she  answered,  wondering  where  she 
could  find  the  voice  for  aught  but.  lamenting. 

Paulevrer  and  Malone  rode  jovially  in  front. 
In  fact,  for  the  men  it  had  been  since  morning 
a  day  of  good-fellowship.  They  had  light- 
heartedly  played  with  the  usual  subjects  and  jokes 
which  bound  them  together,  and  invited  no  quarrel 
97  ? 


"TILL   SEVENTY   TIMES    SEVEN" 

beyond  the  cheerful  argument  of  the  minute. 
They  had  the  wanderer's  temperament,  all  of 
them  ;  the  power  to  make  to-day  as  good  as  yes- 
terday, to  forget  as  quickly  as  they  acquired,  to 
lay  down  a  feud  in  the  environment  where  it  had 
been  born  and  strike  out  for  the  next  one  in  a 
pleasant  temper. 

Not  so  Rosette.  She  rooted  on  the  ground 
where  she  fell.  Engrained  in  her  sensitive  nature 
a  strong  faithfulness,  she  suffered  cruelly  at  trans- 
planting. 

As  she  slipped  off  her  pony  at  the  entrance  to 
the  verandah,  she  entreated  him. 

"  You  '11  say  good-bye  to  me  —  alone  —  before 
the  song,  Jim  ?  " 

He  bent  from  the  saddle  and  caressed  her  hair. 

"  On  my  oath,"  he  answered ;  then  he  looked 
over  his  shoulder  up  the  hill  eagerly  at  the  lighted 
windows  of  the  saloon. 

The  men  ate  supper  yawning  and  grumbling, 
then  without  rest  walked  out,  and  though  the  girl 
stayed  at  the  table,  Jim  forgot  her  and  went  with 
his  companions,  his  eye  on  Malone  and  his  hate 
for  him  increasing. 

98 


"TILL    SEVENTY    TIMES    SEVEN" 

For  a  couple  of  hours  she  trusted  him,  expect- 
ing his  return,  and  waited,  battling  with  the  dread 
of  the  difficult  empty  days  that  lay  before  her. 
Would  Jim's  departure  mend  matters  for  her 
brother  —  would  he  gain  thereby  ?  A  thousand 
times  no,  while  Malone  remained  ;  there  would  be 
in  the  loss  nothing  but  loss,  and  her  own  despair. 

The  footsteps  that  sounded  near  the  house 
from  time  to  time,  never  lingered,  but  passed 
always  up  the  hill.  The  suspense  of  his  belated 
coming,  the  longing  to  be  near  Escrick  in  this  last 
hour,  was  growing  more  than  she  could  bear. 
So  she  took  her  hood  from  the  peg  and  followed 
him. 

Never  had  heaven  framed  a  more  splendid 
night.  The  moon  was  at  its  full,  and  gave  to 
each  feathery,  floating  cloud  a  silver  lining.  The 
stars  shaping  the  Southern  Cross  blazed  in  and 
out  among  lesser  kin,  like  diamonds  amidst 
pearls. 

Yet    there  was    no   one   abroad    to   gaze   and 
marvel,  but   this  young  girl ;  and   she,  thinking 
only    of  her   purpose,  ran    quickly   on    without 
reflection. 
99 


"TILL    SEVENTY    TIMES    SEVEN" 

The  roughly  boarded  door  of  the  saloon  was 
open  ;  well,  indeed,  for  the  atmosphere  was  ter- 
ribly oppressive,  and  the  wreaths  of  bad  tobacco- 
smoke  choked  and  half  blinded.  Across  the  set- 
tles against  the  walls  the  station  hands  dozed, 
drank,  or  wrangled.  Two  swinging  lamps,  one 
under  a  painted  glass  shade,  the  other  without  a 
shade  at  all,  hung  high  in  the  ceiling,  and  gave 
a  poor  light.  The  few  dilapidated  tables  were 
surrounded  ;  the  gamblers  that  Rosette  sought 
had  usurped  the  crooked-legged  one  in  the 
corner. 

As  she  entered,  she  became  instantly  aware  of 
the  emptiness  of  Escrick's  promise.  The  game, 
only  the  game,  fired  his  eyes  and  threw  complete 
absorption  into  his  attitude ;  he  would  play  to 
the  last  minute,  and  then  go.  Rosette,  for  all  he 
knew  now,  or  cared,  might  be  a  hundred  miles 
away. 

Malone  was  dealing  the  cards  with  the  slow 
precision  and  continual  calculation  characteristic 
of  the  man.  Under  his  elbow  he  had  laid  a  bag 
of  almost  ostentatiously  presented  notes.  He 
looked  like  some  old-world  wizard ;  there  was 

1 00 


"TILL  SEVENTY  TIMES  SEVEN" 
strength  in  his  badness,  cleverness  in  his  machina- 
tions. Escrick  knew  this  always,  but  more  than 
ever  to-night.  Harry  the  boy  was  winning ;  his 
face  was  suffused  with  a  rosy  flush,  he  talked  gar- 
rulously during  the  deals.  Escrick  was  astute 
enough  to  realize  this  success  as  no  mere  chance. 
Malone  was  merely  getting  Paulevrer  utterly 
into  his  net  to  make  the  final  break-up  irremedi- 
able, his  revenge  on  Escrick  more  complete. 

In  a  moment  of  impatience  Jim  had  kicked 
his  chair  back  and  stood  lounging  against  the 
table.  Though  Rosette  could  have  touched  him 
with  her  hand,  he  appeared  indifferent  to  her 
presence,  even  if  he  had  noticed  it.  Was  it  pos- 
sible that  he  had  forgotten  the  promise  she  had 
made  him,  as  he  had  forgotten  his  promise  to 
her  ?  As  in  her  misery  she  wondered,  he  lifted 
his  head,  and  his  glance,  to  her  surprise,  fell  on 
her  at  once  ;  there  was  no  uncertainty  in  it.  He 
must  have  known  her  beside  him  from  the  be- 
ginning. 

"  Sing,"    he   said   in   a  low  tone  of  command 
rather  than  entreaty.     "  Sing,"  he  repeated  again 
as  she  hesitated. 
101 


"TILL   SEVENTY   TIMES    SEVEN" 

She  felt  the  strength  of  his  desire  through 
and  through  her  frame. 

How  it  was  she  hardly  knew,  but  the  song 
began.  Not  the  Yankee  plantation  lullaby  or 
music-hall  ditty  she  usually  gave  them,  and  the 
chorus  of  which  would  rise,  a  jovial  roar,  from 
the  half-tipsy  company,  but  Jim's  ballad,  a 
present  he  had  brought  her  from  Henderson  one 
afternoon.  New-fangled  they  had  called  it,  but 
she  had  sung  it  camping  in  the  bush  on  long 
summer  evenings.  Jim  remembered  the  first 
night  she  had  mastered  it,  kneeling  in  the  winter 
firelight ;  he  had  loved  her  better  then.  Now,  as 
the  words  "  Falling  leaf  and  fading  tree  "  floated 
out  in  her  clear,  sweet  voice  through  the  dense, 
heated  atmosphere  to  the  calm  night-air,  he 
seemed  the  least  moved  among  those  rude  squat- 
ters who  left,  in  a  few  moments,  the  cards  and 
counters  in  careless  disorder  and  sat  as  if  spell- 
bound to  listen. 

It  was  no  nightingale's  clear  treble,  no  prima 
donna's  studied  bravura,  this  girl's  singing.  As 
the  swan  in  its  death-throes  gives  a  sobbing 
dirge  to  the  world  once,  and  then  silence,  so  it 

102 


"TILL    SEVENTY   TIMES    SEVEN" 

seemed  that  all  the  longing  and  despair  Rosette 
had  ever  felt  or  would  feel  again  were  concen- 
trated in  these  tragic  minutes. 

She  sang  the  song  once  and  began  to  sing  it 
again.  No  one  told  her  to  cease,  for  to  these 
rough  men  her  voice,  figuratively,  was  as  the 
voice  of  God,  and  gained,  while  it  gave  its  sweet- 
ness, the  mastery  it  claimed. 

Malone  seemed  to  parley  with  his  familiar 
spirit,  angel  or  devil ;  he  found  it,  his  head  sunk 
on  his  breast,  engrossing.  Harry's  expression, 
the  plaything  of  occasion,  had  grown  sunny  with 
satisfaction  and  pride  in  his  sister.  He  had  no 
apprehension  of  the  singular  pathos  she  displayed. 
And  Escrick,  his  face  buried  in  his  hands,  watched 
through  his  fingers  the  bag  of  money  which  lay 
before  Malone  on  the  stained  baize  cloth. 

He  was  encountered  by  the  strongest  tempta- 
tion of  his  strongly-tempted  life.  Never  had 
action  appeared  more  easy.  The  other  lamp  had 
died  out,  for  the  barman,  taking  advantage  of  the 
lull,  slept ;  the  moon  illumined  little,  rather  aided 
the  darkness.  A  moment's  presence  of  mind  and 
the  coveted  money  his  —  a  horse,  ready  saddled, 
103 


"TILL   SEVENTY   TIMES    SEVEN " 

tethered  outside  —  and  so  into  the  world,  to  begin 
again. 

Such  thoughts,  disjointed,  perilous,  insisting, 
chased  and  rechased  each  other  through  his  mind. 
He  was  tired  of  the  losing  score  on  the  tablets 
of  his  experience.  One  simple  act  and  he  could 
wipe  it  off,  to  begin  afresh  —  one  wrong  to  win  a 
right,  after  all. 

And  Rosette  ?  She  loved  him  —  she  was  sing- 
ing to  make  him  happy  —  she  would  not  fail ; 
be  even  glad  afterwards  that  she  had  helped  him 
to  be  free ;  that  she  had  so  innocently  but  so 
effectually  served  as  accomplice. 

There  was  a  sudden  instant  of  complete  dark- 
ness—  a  cloud  had  passed  over  the  moon.  The 
coincidence  stunned  his  conscience,  and  by  a  deed 
he  scotched  his  doubts.  His  hand  slid  down  from 
his  face  and  across  the  table ;  then  he  went  out  at 
the  door  slowly,  as  if  overcome  by  the  music. 

Rosette,  seeing  all,  still  sang  : 

"  What  are  we  waiting  for,  O  my  heart  ? 
Kiss  me  straight  on  the  brow  —  and  part  —  " 

The  passionate  words  burst  out,  wrung  from 
her  own  broken  heart,  to  keep  the  listeners  as 

104 


"TILL    SEVENTY   TIMES    SEVEN" 

the  witch  kept  the  sleeping  sailors  long  ago,  till 
her  lover  had  time  to  vault  into  the  saddle  and 
gallop  away. 

It  had  come  at  last  —  the  end.  Trembling 
she  sank  onto  the  chair  Jim  had  pushed  back ; 
the  acuteness  of  the  sudden  silence  in  this  dark, 
peopled  room  was  remarkable.  But  the  spell 
removed,  they  immediately  forgot  its  potency  in 
a  renewed  desire  for  self-assertion.  A  hubbub 
of  talk  broke  out;  the  barman  knocked  over 
glasses  and  pipes'  in  needless  activity  to  renew  the 
lamp  to  a  spasmodic  flame  ;  Seth  Malone  coughed, 
spat,  and  drew  himself  straight  in  his  chair.  He 
hated  his  period  of  weakness ;  he  became  fiercely 
energetic,  gathering  up  the  cards  and  squaring 
to  the  table  with  a  muttered  undercurrent  of 
contemptuous  speech,  directed  against  all  and 
none. 

Harry  rubbed  his  brow,  "  That  was  a  good 
song,"  he  said.  "  It 's  your  deal,  Escrick  "  —  but 
the  light  streaming  down  now  showed  Rosette 
upon  the  chair. 

Malone  looked  at  her,  his  eyes  screwed  closely ; 
then  his  hand,  holding  the  greasy  cards,  groped 
105 


"TILL    SEVENTY    TIMES    SEVEN" 

about  the  table.  Through  suspicion  his  knowl- 
edge became  rapidly  conclusive. 

"  Gone,  by  h —  ,  gone  !  "  he  shouted,  sweep- 
ing the  cloth  where  the  notes  had  been.  Then 
at  full  height  he  towered  above  the  trembling 
girl,  and  cast  his  imprecations  over  the  whole 
saloon.  "  He  's  cut  it,  the  rogue,  be  d — d  to  him. 
You,  gal,  with  your  cunning  wiles  are  at  the  bot- 
tom of  this,  you  — ,"  and  the  foul  word  hissed 
through  the  air.  "  Where  is  he  ?  Out  with  the 
truth,  or  there  will  be  killing,  d' you  hear  —  not 
my  first  job  in  that  line —  killing,  bloody  killing  ;  " 
in  his  infuriation  he  foamed  at  the  mouth  and 
gurgled  like  an  epileptic. 

Rosette  drew  away  as  his  fist  threatened  her, 
but  there  was  no  quiver  of  emotion  in  the  ghastly 
pallor  of  her  face.  She  bore  the  burden  of  her 
sorrowful  knowledge  and  her  sacrifice  with  a  great 
courage  under  this  man's  insults;  only  before  her 
brother  she  quailed.  He  had  crept  up  to  her  and 
had  put  his  hands  heavily  on  her  shoulders.  He 
had  understood  the  situation  slowly  —  knew  at 
length  that  the  money  had  gone  and  Escrick  with 
it  —  but  he  knew  best  of  all  that  his  sister  had 

106 


"TILL    SEVENTY    TIMES    SEVEN" 

failed  him.  What  extenuating  circumstances  for 
her?  Her  action  so  obvious,  the  result  so  suc- 
cessful. The  web  of  deception  was  too  well 
woven  to  be  unravelled  by  any  excuses ;  he  did 
not  invite  them,  but  condemned  her  unheard. 

"  My  God,  Rosette  ! "  he  said,  full  of  the  bit- 
terness of  his  disappointment,  "  I  'd  have  staked 
my  soul  on  your  honour.  You  loved  that  scoun- 
drel, but,  dupe  that  I  was,  I  thought  you  straight. 
Well,  there  's  an  end  to  it,  and  the  station  should 
be  proud  of  such  a  well-matched  pair.  I  know 
the  country  better  than  he  does,  aye,  and  I  '11 
track  every  inch  of  it  till  I  shoot  him  and  curse 
him  for  the  dog  he  is."  Then,  turning  from 
the  dumb  agony  in  her  eyes,  he  went  out  as 
Escrick  had  done  before  him.  But  for  his  exit 
there  was  no  tethered  horse  saddled ;  he  made 
down  the  hill  to  the  stables  running,  and  most 
of  the  men  followed. 

For  a  minute,  stunned  by  the  injustice  of  the 
accusation,  sick  unto  death  with  this  load  of  com- 
plicated trouble,  she  swayed  as  if  she  would  have 
fallen.  She  steadied  herself,  however,  against  the 
loathsome  table  with  its  scattered  cards  and  cigar- 
107 


"TILL    SEVENTY   TIMES    SEVEN" 

ends  and  dribbles  of  spirit  and  water  spilt  from 
glasses  raised  by  shaking  hands,  till,  looking 
round,  she  found  herself,  but  for  Malone  raving 
in  the  corner,  deserted  —  the  door  wide  —  and 
the  sky  outside  lightening  before  the  dawn. 

She  began  to  consider  coherently  now;  to 
reckon  that  Jim  would  have  made  for  Blowcaster 
and  so  to  join  the  railway-line,  that  he  would 
have  ridden  down  the  narrow  path  with  the 
broken  gate  as  the  quickest  way  to  get  there.  It 
was  that  way  Harry  would  ride  also  —  he  would 
guess  as  she  guessed  —  and  perhaps  it  would  be 
at  the  gate,  where  he  would  have  to  check  his 
pace,  that  she  might  stay  his  wild  ride  of  pursuit 
and  make  him  listen  to  her  once  more. 

So  she  turned  toward  the  hill  and  climbed  it 
as  the  others  went  down,  and  began  to  run 
through  the  thick  grass  which,  twisting  round 
her  ankles,  impeded  every  step. 

She  crossed  the  shoulder.  The  moon  hidden 
by  clouds,  the  darkness  was  still  great,  but,  her 
eyes  growing  accustomed  to  it,  she  saw  indica- 
tions of  the  valley  beneath  and  of  dark  woods 
nearer.  She  felt  the  path  now,  the  pebbles  flew 

108 


"TILL    SEVENTY    TIMES    SEVEN" 

under  her  feet  and  she  sank  into  soft  dust. 
Then  she  stopped  —  she  had  reached  the  broken 
gap  in  the  palisade ;  it  was  there  her  brother 
would  come. 

It  had  been  broken  down  by  cattle  and  no  one 
took  the  trouble  to  repair  it,  but  piled  it  with 
rough  stones.  Over  these  Harry  would  not  be 
able  to  gallop,  but  must  pick  his  way.  She  heard 
already  the  thud  of  the  horse's  tread  behind  her 
as  she  stood  coolly  in  the  opening.  Her  brother 
was  thirsting  for  her  lover's  life ;  with  his  knowl- 
edge of  the  road  he  might  so  easily  overtake  him. 
But  it  was  she  who  had  let  Jim  go  and  it  was 
she  who  would  let  him  get  away  alive  into  the 
world  where  he  would  forget  her. 

She  had  no  power,  while  thinking  of  his  life,  to 
consider  his  dastardly  deed.  Her  only  wish  was 
to  have  a  delaying  touch  upon  her  brother's 
rein,  to  bring  him  to  reason,  as  she  held  reason, 
with  her  old  compelling  persuasions. 

Standing  between  the  wooden  posts  she  smiled 
now,  her  face  turned  to  where  the  dawn  would 
break,  as  if  in  prayer  for  the  two  men  so  dear  to 
her. 
109 


"TILL    SEVENTY    TIMES    SEVEN" 

Harry  in  the  full  stride  of  his  canter  approached. 
He  had  chosen  the  way  as  she  divined,  from  the 
same  idea ;  he  knew  of  the  gap  and  the  stones, 
but  he  had  no  intention  of  labouring  over  them. 
His  horse  was  agile  and  trained  :  put  him  at  the 
obstacle  and  he  could  jump  it  easily  and  gather 
fresh  impetus  for  faster  pacing  in  the  quest. 

Therefore,  galloping  down,  the  blood  in  his 
head,  in  his  eyes  ;  his  mind  one-idea'd,  revengeful, 
he  saw  the  dim  outline  of  some  figure  in  his  path. 
With  lack  of  reason  he  suspected  Escrick's  re- 
lenting, and  swearing  to  offer  him  no  chance,,  he 
cocked  his  pistol  and  fired.  But  it  was  a  woman's 
sharp  cry  that  echoed  to  the  rash  shot,  and  his 
heart  stood  still,  for  the  figure  lay  as  it  had  fallen. 
Quickly  he  dismounted  and  bent  over  it. 

"  My  God,"  he  groaned,  striving  to  loosen  the 
handkerchief  at  her  neck,  "  Rosette,  speak  to  me, 
for  the  love  of  heaven,  speak  to  me ! "  But 
there  was  only  silence,  and  he  gathered  her  into 
his  arms,  and  looked  at  the  trickling  blood  from 
the  mark  on  her  forehead,  upon  the  purity  of  her 
placid  face.  There  was  no  sound  anywhere,  yet 
the  birds  were  preparing  to  wake,  and  soon  the 

1 10 


"TILL    SEVENTY    TIMES    SEVEN" 
cold  wind  of  the  hour  of  dawn  made  him  shiver; 
it  sighed  above  the  grass  under  the  distant  trees. 
The  horse,  wandering  around,  began  to  tear  and 
chew  the  dry  scrub. 

The  light  came,  and  the  grey  changed  to  yel- 
low, and  the  yellow  to  the  orange  and  crimson 
forerunners  of  the  sun.  He  knelt  there,  bab- 
bling of  his  childhood's  devotion,  of  his  love 
now,  of  his  need  for  her  forgiveness ;  but  there 
could  be  no  answer ;  after  all,  for  her  and  for 
him  it  was  the  end. 


in 


MRS.    LEONID 

"  Strong  is  your  hold,  O  Mortal  Flesh ! 
Strong  is  your  hold,  O  Love  ! " 

This  is  the  experience  as  my  friend  related  it.  If 
I  fail  to  share  her  sympathies,  I  tell  the  tale  as  it 
was  told. 


MRS.    LEONID 

THINK  it  is  a  puzzle  to 
my  friends  that  I,  with  my 
notions  and  habits  of  other 
times,  should  be  spending 
the  season  in  a  Mayfair 
hotel  with  its  show-cases, 
flower-stall,  public  restau- 
rant, and  string  band,  instead  of  hiring,  as  I  have 
generally  done,  the  sober  unpretentious  house  in 
the  market. 

I  confess  that  I  am  myself  in  a  measure  puz- 
zled at  such  encouragement  of  extravagance  en 
fauteuil.  I  pay  fabulous  sums  for  garish  apart- 
ments, I  scribble  the  name  of  the  advertising 
silversmith  upon  my  visiting  card,  I  mass  gar- 
denias amongst  my  laces,  and  eat  my  dinner  to 
the  tune  of  "  Monte  Cristo  "  with  half  the  demi- 
mondaines  of  Europe  and  their  attendant  swains 
at  my  side,  as  if  there  were  no  such  things  as 
fixed  incomes  and  infinite  ideals.  But  having 
something  to  forget,  I  bring  thus  a  new  interest 
into  life  and  should  be  satisfied. 

The  fact  is,  I  am  one  of  those  unfortunate 
beings  —  a  woman  of  perception  ;  gifted  (accord- 


MRS.    LEONID  „ 

ing  to  the  chroniclers)  with  "  rare  insight,"  and  I 
have  been  the  witness  of  an  incident  so  baleful  to 
my  remembrance  and  yet  so  inexplicable  that 
when  I  repeated  the  story  to  my  best  friend  she 
merely  smiled,  whilst  I,  in  the  telling,  shuddered 
as  at  a  catastrophe  of  personal  import. 

There  is  a  mistake  in  one's  construction  when 
it  offers  an  inviting  surface  to  the  limpets  of  tragic 
events  in  other  people's  lives.  Comedies  —  all 
well  and  good  —  one  may,  at  other  people's 
expense  have  one's  laugh.  But  the  holes  in 
the  coat  of  the  tramp,  the  frightened  looks  of 
the  child  in  a  next  door  neighbour's  garden,  the 
traces  of  tears  around  the  eyes  of  the  young 
typist  engaged  by  the  hour,  should  not  in  the  nar- 
row way  be  asked  to  "  stand  and  deliver  "  ;  they 
belong  to  the  wide  road  that  leads  to  destruction 
and  for  the  sake  of  one's  nervous  system  should 
be  avoided.  At  least,  that  is  the  conclusion  I 
have  arrived  at ;  that  is  why  I  jingle  through  a 
butterfly  existence  in  the  most  fashionable  resort 
of  the  moment.  Others  by  these  means  have 
grown  impervious,  why  not  I  ?  One  should  not, 
to  quote  the  philosopher,  have  more  than  enough. 

116 


MRS.    LEONID 

If,  however,  the  cardinal  sin  of  sympathy  is 
subjugated  —  made  inactive  towards  the  passive 
weepers  by  the  wayside,  what  about  the  situations 
that  are  as  bloodhounds  at  one's  throat,  and  pin 
one  to  sight  and  sensation  ?  These  are  of  desti- 
ny's breeding  —  incomprehensible,  yet  revealing 
the  soul  of  man  beyond  human  explanation. 
Let  me  tell  you,  as  I  told  my  best  friend,  what 
under  such  circumstances  came  and  arrested  me. 

Following  the  maxims  of  my  upbringing,  I 
have  for  the  last  fourteen  years  hired  a  house 
in  London  for  the  months  of  February,  March, 
and  April.  Honestly  as  I  detest  house-hunting, 
I  Ve  steadily  refused  to  complicate  my  life  with  a 
permanent  possession.  The  house  in  the  quiet 
region  where  I  could  be  of  the  world  yet  not  in 
it,  was  no  longer  available ;  I  discovered  that  the 
dwellings  of  my  friends  —  to  be  let  —  did  not 
justify  my  friends'  recommendations ;  I  think, 
then,  it  was  on  January  gth  that  I  looked  up  a 
well-known  house  agent.  The  junior  partner  of 
Hay  &  Horner  was  away  on  a  holiday  in  Spain, 
but  the  clerk  in  charge,  appraising  me  —  I  gath- 
ered this  from  his  manner  —  as  somewhat  exact- 
117 


f 
MRS.    LEONID 

ing)  produced  an  enormous  tome,  and  prepared 
due  consideration  for  the  range  of  Madame's  luni- 
form  desires,  for,  as  I  told  him,  I  infinitely  pre- 
ferred crescents  to  squares,  and  streets  for  me 
were  an  abomination. 

"  No.  27  Ronda  Road,"  he  murmured  above 
the  ledger  in  the  tone  of  one  who  reads  for  the 
first  time  what  he  has  to  explain  by  heart  —  "a 
spacious  house  with  a  garden,  close  to  Vauxhall 
Bridge,  a  little  out  of  the  way,  perhaps,  but 
convenient  for  Ascot  races."  He  looked  over 
his  glasses  and  interpreted  my  movement  of  con- 
temptuous negation. 

"  Paddington  Green,"  he  went  on  placidly, 
"  moderate  rent,  owner,  Mr.  Savile  Smith,  ac- 
commodation for  six  servants,  no  bathroom 
—  that  will  hardly  suit." 

"  St.  John's  Wood  —  bijou  residence  —  owner, 
Miss  Totty  Major  —  furnished  by  Maple  —  rent 
to  be  paid  to  Sir  .  .  ."  He  slid  off  the  danger- 
ous ground  and  came  up  smiling,  his  hand  sweep- 
ing the  page  as  if  removing  all  prior  suggestions. 

"  No.  13  Pandora  Terrace  —  the  very  house  — 
owners,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Leonid  —  going  abroad 

118 


MRS.    LEONID 

for  some  time  —  will  let  for  three  months  with 

option  of  purchase,  terms  moderate,  every  modern 

improvement,     perfectly     quiet,     facing     private 

gardens." 

"  Leonid  !  "  What  a  queer  name  !  My  fancy 
was  struck  with  it  instantly.  I  was  seized,  Heaven 
knows  why,  with  a  burning  desire  to  ask  personal 
questions,  but  a  feeling  of  reticence  prevailed. 
I  was  looking  for  a  house;  I  had  made  no  remark 
about  Mr.  Savile  Smith,  I  had  passed  over  Miss 
Totty  Major  and  her  rent  collector  in  stony 
silence,  and  now  why  should  I  enquire  of  this 
excellent  clerk  the  manner  of  life  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Leonid. 

Leonid  .  .  .  Leonidas  —  was  that  the  connec- 
tion in  my  mind  ?  The  vision  of  a  white  line  of 
road  twisting  up  and  up  the  blue  mountains  of 
Greece  from  the  plain  of  Thermopylae ;  all  the 
great  feats  of  arms,  of  Spartan  endurance,  swept, 
but  for  glorious  memory,  into  nothingness  by  the 
overwhelming  force  of  an  alien  army  —  one  against 
so  much.  The  details  of  the  tragedy  rising  at 
this  moment  to  remembrance  and  framed  there  in 
the  peaceful  setting  and  perfect  pastoral  beauty 
119 


MRS.    LEONID 

of  the  shores  of  the  Euboean  Sea,  appeared  to 
hold  a  whimsical  significance.  I  turned  for  an 
instant  and  peered  through  the  plate-glass  win- 
dow into  the  street,  looking  as  London  streets 
usually  do ;  a  thickening  fog  had  captured  the 
sun  of  the  morning ;  it  was  only  half-past  three, 
but  the  lamplighter  was  going  about  his  work. 

"  I  think,"  I  said  slowly,  as  if  I  had  given  long 
reflection  to  the  matter,  "  I  will  go  and  see  this 
house  of  Mr.  Leonidas  —  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Leonid," 
I  corrected.  "  I  shall  go  to-day  ;  will  you  give 
me  a  card  ?  "  The  clerk  answered  with  alacrity, 
closing  the  book,  "  Certainly,  and  I  may  as  well 
persuade  you  to  look  in  at  two  other  houses,  all 
on  your  way  down.  But  I  feel  sure  that  No.  13 
Pandora  Terrace  will  attract  you." 

Simply  for  the  sake  of  saying  that  I  had  done 
so,  I  entered  the  two  houses  he  had  mentioned 
en  route.  They  neither  of  them  gave  any  present 
joy,  nor  offered  a  promise  of  it  in  the  future. 

But  if  the  truth  were  told  I  went  through  the 
rooms  with  unseeing  eye.  I  was  in  a  mood  of 
abstraction,  weaving  possibilities  about  13  Pan- 
dora Terrace  and  its  owners.  If  they  were  both 

120 


MRS.    LEONID 

Spartans  it  augured  ill  for  my  comfort.  Possibly 
he  was  the  Spartan  and  she,  with  oriental  blan- 
dishments, strove  to  overcome  his  prejudices.  I 
imagined  Mrs.  Leonid  a  lady  of  ample  bosom 
encased  in  flowing  silk  draperies  and  wearing 
pendant  earrings  glistening  and  glittering.  I  felt 
certain  about  those  earrings,  and  that  her  divan 
would  be  heaped  with  Persian  cushions.  But  for 
him  I  could  mould  no  shape  whatever;  he  re- 
mained altogether  undefined.  As  the  driver  went 
slowly  down  the  Terrace  looking  for  the  correct 
number  I  chided  myself  for  such  ridiculous  fancies. 
"  They  are  probably  pot-au-feu,  second  rate,  and 
their  house  as  unliveable  as  all  other  houses,"  I 
declared.  Then  I  pushed  my  head  from  under 
the  roof  of  the  hansom  and  looked  upon  No.  13. 
The  exterior  was  certainly  prepossessing.  The 
walls  had  been  newly  painted,  and  the  window 
boxes  were  filled  with  dwarf  holly  neatly  cut  and 
bearing  berries.  The  blinds  were  down,  but  here 
and  there  I  could  perceive  a  light.  The  three 
low  steps  to  the  enchanting  myrtle-green  door 
were  of  marble,  scrupulously  clean,  and  above  the 
lintel  hung  an  old  Venetian  lamp  holding  an 
121 


MRS.    LEONID 

electric  globe;  the  knocker  was  peculiar — a 
brazen  raven,  its  great  eyes  made  of  some  curious 
iridescent  pebble  shining  in  the  light.  I  sprang 
out  of  the  cab,  rang  the  bell,  and  banged  the  for- 
bidding bird  against  the  panel,  as  interested  now 
in  the  house  as  in  the  owners.  "  13  Pandora 
Terrace,"  I  decided,  "  shall  be  mine.  Who 
knows  whether  I  shall  not  buy  it  and  find  at  last 
an  artistic  city  hearth."  I  felt  already  the  exul- 
tation of  possession. 

They  took  a  long  time  to  answer  the  bell.  I 
rang  again — and  a  third  time,  not  over-patiently. 

At  last,  to  the  extent  of  about  four  inches,  the 
door  was  opened  and  a  neatly-dressed  maid,  her 
hair  parted  under  a  French  cap,  brought  her  gaze, 
brim  full  of  anxiety,  to  bear  upon  me. 

"  I  have  come  to  see  this  house/"  I  said, 
looking  at  her  eyes,  their  agitation  appeared  so 
uncalled-for.  "  It  is,  I  understand,  to  be  let. 
Tt  has  grown  dark  early,  but  I  should  like  to 
come  in  now."  I  held  out  Hay  &  Horner's 
card. 

She  did  not  attempt  to  take  it,  but  stood  there 
whispering  to  me  :  "You  can't  come  in  —  indeed 

122 


MRS.    LEONID 

you  can't  —  it  is  awful.  Please  go  away.  Come 
back  next  week  —  some  day  —  she  is  —  " 

The  little  quavering  voice  ceased  ;  it  seemed  to 
me  that  some  one  from  within  had  dragged  the 
girl  back,  for  feet  scuffled  on  the  tiles,  and  the 
door,  released,  swung  wide  in  the  draught.  Then 
a  hand  steadied  it,  a  light  shot  through  the  dark- 
ness, and  I  was  face  to  face  with  a  tall  woman. 
"  Mrs.  Leonid,"  I  just  breathed  to  myself  and 
went  forward  to  meet  her. 

"  My  maid  is  stupid,"  she  said  in  a  clear,  slow 
voice  with  a  peculiar  lengthening  of  the  vowels  in 
accent.  "  I  think  that  maid-servants  are  an  over- 
rated advantage.  I  am  particularly  anxious  that 
you  should  see  this  house  if  you  are  in  need  of 
one.  I  consider  it  charming  in  every  way." 
The  manner  in  which  these  assertions  were  made 
rendered  any  criticism  superfluous.  I  suspected 
that  Mrs.  Leonid  was  a  lady  who  shrank  from 
contradiction  and  I  decided  to  be  diplomatic. 

"  I  should  very  much  like  to  see  this  house  if 
it  really  is  not  an  inconvenient  moment,"  I  as- 
sented, and  longed  to  add  how  much  more  I 
desired  to  see  Mrs.  Leonid.  She  still  stood 
123 


MRS.    LEONID 

with  her  back  to  the  light,  —  I  could  only  discern 
the  outline  of  an  imposing  figure. 

She  walked  past  me  deliberately  now,  opened 
a  door  to  the  right  and  with  a  quick  movement 
switched  on  the  electric  light  in  all  the  chandeliers 
of  a  spacious  chamber.  My  first  impression  of 
the  room  was  the  contrast  of  verity  to  my  vision. 
There  was  no  scope  for  oriental  idleness  here. 
I  saw  stiff  gilt  settees,  white  walls,  ormolu  tables. 
Then  my  eyes  became  glued  with  startled  fasci- 
nation upon  Mrs.  Leonid. 

She  was  unlike  any  one  I  had  ever  seen  before. 
Her  skin  was  pale  and  so  clear  as  to  be  almost 
blue  from  the  veins  that  coursed  beneath.  In 
profile  her  features  were  nearly  perfect,  but  her 
chin  was  too  long  and  pointed  and  gave  extreme 
length  to  her  face.  Her  hair  of  glinting  gold, 
undoubtedly  natural,  had  in  one  single  lock 
turned  gray.  This  fell  over  the  brow  with  a 
sideway  sweep  as  if  to  shade  her  deep  penetrating 
eyes,  for  her  eyebrows  were  ever  so  slightly 
marked,  and  the  innocence  of  her  forehead  from  this 
cause  contradicted  the  hardness  of  the  jaw  and  the 
firmness  of  the  close-lipped  mouth.  I  should 

124 


MRS.    LEONID 

judge  her  age  to  have  been  about  forty,  but  she 
was  one  of  those  women  who  have  no  age.  She 
could  never  have  known  blushing  youth,  she 
would  still  be  in  her  prime  twenty  years  hence. 
Her  figure  was  statuesque  and  broad-shouldered ; 
her  dress,  in  the  best  fashion  of  the  day,  fitted 
closely,  but  her  hair,  knotted  strangely  in  meshes 
of  black  lace,  hung  half-way  down  her  shoulders. 
In  her  ears  she  wore  rings.  I  felt  a  quick  thrill 
of  excitement  when  I  saw  them.  They  did  not 
glitter  like  those  of  my  fancy,  but  fell  in  two 
huge  opal-tinted  pearl-drops  like  the  unopened 
buds  of  an  orange  flower.  A  quaint  conviction 
seized  me  that  if  I  walked  over  to  her  and 
squeezed  them  between  finger  and  thumb,  red 
juice  like  blood  would  flow  from  them  and  trickle 
down  her  white,  uncovered  neck.  The  incorrigi- 
ble absurdity  of  my  imaginings  annoyed  me.  I 
coloured  and  hastened  to  force  some  trite  remark. 
I  felt  sure  that  my  idiotic  stare  surprised  her. 

"This  room  is    lovely,"    I   said,   turning  my 
gaze  vaguely  around ;    "  I  am  not  sure,  though, 
that  I  think  the  Louis  XVI.  style  conducive  to 
comfort." 
125 


MRS.    LEONID 

"  Comfort !  "  She  spoke  the  word  with  acrid 
emphasis.  "  That  is  the  watchword  of  the  pres- 
ent day  —  if  you  wish  to  lounge  and  loll,  there  is 
my  husband's  study." 

So  I  had  touched  the  cloven  foot  of  Spartan 
severity.  She  withdrew  her  uncomfortable  eyes 
from  mine.  "  Take  care  of  the  step,"  she  said  as 
she  swept  on,  and  I,  with  ever-growing  interest, 
followed. 

The  little  room  with  its  tent-like  hangings  was 
below  the  level  of  the  drawing-room  and  lit  by 
tall  candles.  I  looked  round  for  Leonidas  — 
Mr.  Leonid  —  but  he  was  not  there.  Upon  the 
writing-table  some  books,  a  few  letters,  and  a 
number  of  cigarette  boxes ;  but  it  was  obvious 
that  he  had  not  been  writing  for  hours.  A 
sofa  filled  up  one  side  of  the  room  and  every 
available  square  inch  of  wall  was  hung  with 
treasures  of  travel.  Inlaid  pistols  from  Mace- 
donia, pipes  and  scimitars  from  Turkey,  Tunisian 
wallets,  —  a  medley  of  immense  interest  all  indi- 
cating the  collector. 

"  Mr.  Leonid  is  fond  of  distant  countries,"  I 
said. 

126 


MRS.    LEONID 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  "  he  has  travelled,  and  we 
are  about  to  travel  again."  She  laid  special  stress 
on  the  "  he  "  and  "  we,"  and  finished  off  the  sen- 
tence sharply.  I  saw  that  she  was  fidgeting  to 
pursue  our  investigations  in  other  parts  of  the 
house,  but  I  would  not  be  removed  so  easily.  If 
I  was  not  to  see  Mr.  Leonid,  at  least  I  would 
gain  a  clear  idea  of  Mr.  Leonid's  belongings  and 
build  up  therefrom  a  graven  image  when  I  came 
to  make  this  attractive  den  my  own. 

I  walked  over  to  the  fireplace  and  touched  the 
tiny  silver  and  copper  works  of  art  upon  the 
mantelshelf;  I  had  rarely  seen  such  uncommon 
curios  out  of  the  glass  case  of  a  museum.  As  I 
turned  my  back  to  the  ledge,  I  noticed  that  he 
had  but  one  picture  in  the  room, —  the  full  length 
portrait  of  a  young  girl  in  a  white  dress ;  the  atti- 
tude was  so  graceful,  the  face  so  lovely,  that  my 
attention  was  riveted.  Above  the  inlaid  frame 
hung  a  delicate  ivory  crucifix,  before  it  burned  a 
little  red  light  as  before  a  shrine. 

"Do  tell  me  who  that  is."  The  impulsive 
demand  trembled  upon  my  lips.  I  turned  to 
Mrs.  Leonid,  but  she  had  passed  back  into  the 
127 


MRS.    LEONID 

drawing-room  and  when  I  followed  and  looked 
into  her  face  all  desire  to  press  the  question  left 
me. 

"  Do  you  read  ? "  she  asked  abruptly.  She 
fingered  a  heap  of  paper  volumes.  Memoirs  of 
the  Inquisition,  Life  of  Napoleon,  of  Catherine 
of  Russia,  of  Sforza,  of  Marat,  —  I  read  those 
names  quickly  among  many  others.  "  I  only  care 
for  memoirs,"  she  added. 

"Of  monsters,  I  see,"  I  remarked  rather 
foolishly  in  a  sudden  longing  to  annoy  this  woman 
and  defy  her  empiry. 

"  So  you  consider  the  makers  of  true  history 
monsters,"  she  answered  with  a  shrug  and  contrac- 
tion of  her  eyes.  "  How  truly  British-matronly  ! 
Only  weakness  I  should  have  called  a  crime  and 
these  people  were  strong.  They  knew  what  they 
wanted  and  they  held  it  —  while  they  could.  I 
will  put  the  books  away.  Come,  we  have  not 
seen  the  bedrooms  —  the  nurseries." 

I  felt  like  a  rag  doll  with  the  sawdust  running 
out.  I  had  laid  myself  open  to  the  snub  and 
received  it  broadside.  I  followed  her  sheepishly 
up  the  stairs,  resenting  her  every  movement,  but 

128 


MRS.    LEONID 

powerless  to  curb  a  desire  to  know  more  of  her. 
She  told  one  nothing,  but  gave  pregnant  impres- 
sions, and  the  uncanny  feeling  she  had  aroused  at 
first  sight  grew  in  me  to  positive  fear,  while  it 
irritated  me  to  think  her,  as  I  did,  the  centre  of 
mystery.  The  house  was  strangely  quiet,  there 
were  evidently  no  children,  but  she  showed  me 
luxurious  attics  for  mine  with  a  supercilious  air,  as 
if  implying  that  women  with  children  were  rather 
an  encumbrance  upon  the  face  of  the  earth  than 
otherwise.  Since  my  remark  about  the  books 
she  did  not  deviate  to  general  topics.  All  her 
conversation  was  in  the  strict  way  of  business. 
The  number  of  baths  for  the  rooms,  the  nature 
of  the  hot-water  supply,  the  charge  for  possible 
breakages.  In  quite  unwarrantable  fashion  she 
appeared  to  take  my  future  occupancy  for  granted, 
and  I,  enthralled  by  the  perfect  arrangement  of 
the  house,  went  weakly  after  her  almost  like  a 
sleep-walker  and  found  no  ground  of  dispute. 

At  the  end  of  the  long  passage  on  the  second 
floor,  I  saw  the  little  maid  who  had  rebuffed  me 
on  my  arrival.     She  stood   on  sentry  outside  a 
door. 
129  9 


MRS.   LEONID 

Mrs.  Leonid  approached  her.  "  Go  down, 
Bessie,"  she  said. 

The  girl  swayed  as  she  listened,  but  she  did 
not  obey. 

"  Do  you  hear  me,  go  down." 

The  slow  voice  seemed  to  cut  the  air  like  a 
knife,  and  to  reach  the  trembling  figure  on  its 
edge.  Bessie  winced  and,  bursting  into  sobs, 
went,  slipping  past  against  the  wall  as  if  to  avoid 
a  possible  blow. 

I  thought  that  Mrs.  Leonid  would  throw  light 
upon  this  incident,  but  she  was  silent  about  it, 
and  laid  her  grasp  on  the  door-handle. 

"  There  is  a  woman  sleeping  in  here,"  she  said, 
after  a  pause ;  "  we  shall  not  wake  her.  I  think 
you  ought  to  see  the  room  ;  next  to  mine,  it  is 
the  best  in  the  house." 

We  entered.  The  room  was  totally  dark,  and 
a  pungent  smell  of  medicaments  filled  my  nostrils 
—  then  a  faint  scent  of  violets. 

For  the  space  of  a  second  Mrs.  Leonid 
switched  on  the  light  —  but  in  that  second  what 
a  revelation ! 

On  the  bed  raised  upon  a  carpeted  dais,  lay  a 

130 


MRS.    LEONID 

figure  covered  by  a  big  embroidered  sheet. 
Round  the  still  lovely  face  —  radiant  even  in 
death  —  the  long  brown  hair  was  spread ;  the 
hands  were  clasped  upon  the  breast  and  one 
great  nosegay  of  violets  lay  between  them.  In 
a  flash  I  recognised  the  original  of  the  picture 
in  Mr.  Leonid's  study.  Sleeping  —  God!  No! 
She  was  dead  —  dead.  The  shadows  round 
the  eyes,  the  awful  stillness  of  the  form  told 
their  tale ;  for  the  sleeping  in  this  world  there 
would  be  no  more  waking. 

"  Mrs.  Leonid,"  I  said,  breathing  heavily  as 
the  darkness  fell  upon  us,  "  Mrs.  Leonid,"  I 
repeated  —  the  utter  futility  of  giving  informa- 
tion to  this  woman  struck  me  as  I  gave  it  —  "  she 
is  no  longer  sleeping ;  don't  you  know  that  girl  is 
dead  ?  " 

By  this  time  we  were  half-way  down  the  pas- 
sage. She  stopped  in  surprise,  and  looked  at  me 
over  her  shoulder. 

"  That  room  would  do  for  your  husband,"  she 
observed  in  a  tone  of  consideration.  "  It  has  a 
south  aspect.  It  might  need  repapering  —  we 
would  consider  the  possibility." 


MRS.    LEONID 

Whether  I  were  walking  on  earth  or  on  air, 
seemed  of  small  moment.  Everything  seemed 
to  rock  round  me ;  the  confusion  of  my  ideas 
was  unspeakable.  We  had  reached  the  hall  again 
and  she  waited.  It  was  evident  that  she  intended 
me  to  go.  Undoubtedly  I  had  seen  all  that  was 
of  concern  for  a  house-hunter.  But  with  my  pulses 
beating  at  fever  rate  I  threw  manners  to  the  wind. 

Was  there  no  explanation  possible  ?  Out  of 
my  brief  experiences  in  this  house,  I  had  built  up 
an  overwhelming  necessity  for  explanation  and  I 
would  not,  so  far  as  human  determination  went, 
be  baulked  of  it  now.  And  yet,  who  or  what 
could  give  me  an  explanation  ;  the  whole  situa- 
tion as  far  as  I  was  involved,  was  incongruous. 
I  had  no  business  in  this  house  at  such  a  time,  I 
had  no  right  to  be  told  its  intimate  history,  and 
positively  the  sooner  I  went  out  of  it  the  better ; 
but,  in  a  frame  of  mind  of  almost  frantic  supersti- 
tion, so  persuaded  was  I  of  fresh  developments,  I 
still  delayed. 

With  uncertain  voice  I  plunged  into  the  com- 
monplace. "  I  think  I  must  have  left  my  hand- 
kerchief in  the  drawing-room." 

133 


MRS.    LEONID 

"If  I  find  it  where  shall  I  send  it?"  Mrs. 
Leonid  asked  steadily. 

For  all  reply  I  pushed  open  the  drawing-room 
door,  and  this  time  she  followed  me. 

A  man  was  on  the  hearth ;  he  had  thrown  his 
hat  and  umbrella  carelessly  upon  the  delicate 
silk  of  an  arm-chair,  and  was  pacing  to  and 
fro. 

"  Mr.  Leonid,"  I  told  myself,  and  heaved 
a  sigh  of  relief. 

He  looked  past  me  as  if  I  had  no  existence, 
straight  at  his  wife. 

"  How  is  she  ?  —  tell  me  at  once.  I  'd  no  idea 
she  was  so  ill  —  I  've  torn  home,  but  the  fastest 
is  the  slowest  now.  How  is  she?"  —  his  voice 
was  quite  hoarse  with  emotion. 

Swiftly,  as  a  man  when  a  shot  has  been  fired 
turns  his  telescope  towards  the  mark,  I  looked  at 
Mrs.  Leonid.  I  drank  in  the  wave  of  fury,  call 
it  by  no  weaker  word,  upon  her  face. 

"  I  thought  you  had  left  the  office  extraordi- 
narily early,"  she  said,  ignoring  altogether  his 
question.  "  Cyprian,  this  lady  has  come  to  see 
the  house  —  she  will  be  a  probable  tenant  —  is 
133 


MRS.    LEONID 

there  anything  in  particular  you  wish  me  to  say 
to  her  ? " 

If  she  intended  this  as  an  introduction,  it  failed 
signally  in  its  purpose.  Mr.  Leonid  took  no 
more  notice  of  me  than  if  I  had  been  announced 
as  a  new  chiffonier  from  Mellier.  He  strode 
towards  his  wife  and  his  hand  brushing  his 
moustache  trembled.  I  could  see  the  sweat- 
drops  upon  his  brow,  and,  by  the  strained  position 
of  his  lithe  figure,  all  the  agony  of  his  impatience 
and  endeavour  at  control  in  their  struggle. 

How  young  he  was  !  Probably  not  more  than 
two  or  three  and  thirty.  His  face  was  most 
refined,  the  pose  of  his  head  distinguished,  but 
all  the  passion  of  which  human  nature  is  capable 
surged  in  his  blue  eyes. 

"How  is  she?"  he  repeated.  "I  insist  — 
tell  me." 

"  She  is  very  ill,"  came  the  sullen  answer  at  last. 
"  Really,  Cyprian,  your  ways  are  remarkable." 

"Very  ill,"  he  repeated  —  slowly  —  helplessly. 
"  I  thought  it  was  merely  a  cold  —  very  ill  and  I 
was  not  told."  Then  his  anger  burst  out.  "  How 
dare  you  ?  "  he  exclaimed  ;  "  how  dare  you  ?  " 

134 


MRS.    LEONID 

If  Mrs.  Leonid  had  been  a  different  woman 
she  would  have  implored  me  to  go  before  the 
crucial  moment,  the  moment  when  either  she  or 
I  would  have  to  state  the  truth.  It  was  obvious 
she  would  have  been  glad  to  be  rid  of  my 
presence.  The  suavity  with  which  she  talked  of 
me  was  forced,  but  her  self-command  was  great. 
The  ultimate  victory  was  so  indisputably  hers,  that 
a  little  restraint  now  would  be  to  her  advantage. 

She  faced  her  husband  with  an  impassiveness 
which,  with  my  knowledge,  I  positively  admired. 
The  formality  of  her  words  and  speech  became 
exaggerated. 

"  Cyprian,  I  must  ask  you  before  this  lady  goes 
to  attend  to  business." 

Attend  to  business  !  Rather  —  and  whole- 
heartedly —  he  would  have  killed  her.  There 
was  not  the  breadth  of  the  silk  rug  between  the 
tall  standing  figures. 

"  I  won't  be  put  off,"  he  went  on  doggedly  ; 
"understand  that.  You  have  lied  to  me  enough. 
I  would  go  to  her  instantly  except  that  I  might 
do  her  harm.  I  'd  rather  suffer  anything  than 
do  that." 
135 


MRS.    LEONID 

"Oh,  Leonidas,"  I  thought,  with  a  dreadful 
pity  at  my  heart,  "  oh,  Leonidas,  you  are  fighting 
awful  odds." 

There  was  a  gleam  in  Mrs.  Leonid's  eye  — 
there,  and  gone  again  instantly. 

"  She  is  sleeping,"  was  all  she  said. 

"  Sleeping  —  then  she  is  better  —  "  The  gasp 
of  relief  that  he  gave  was  pathetic.  "Why 
could  n't  you  tell  me  before  ?  I  shan't  leave 
the  house  —  when  she  wakes  I  shall  be  ready." 
He  fell  back  on  the  sofa  as  if  he  had  been  sud- 
denly released  from  the  rack :  the  torture  of  the 
last  few  minutes  had  distorted  his  handsome  face 
strangely.  He  became  in  reaction  almost  irritable 
—  looked  at  his  watch,  bit  his  nails,  frowned  at 
me  as  if  he  wished  me  gone,  and  yet,  when  I  made 
a  movement  with  my  foot,  half  deciding  to  rise, 
gave  an  involuntary  start  of  apprehension  as  if  he 
would  have  me  stay. 

Mrs.  Leonid  took  a  paper  from  a  drawer  and 
approached  me. 

"You  will  find  here  everything  about  the 
house  —  terms  —  furniture,  &c.  Perhaps  to- 
morrow you  could  let  me  have  some  sort  of 

136 


MRS.    LEONID 

answer.  A  good  many  people  are  after  it,  but 
I  should  like  to  give  you  the  refusal.  I  don't 
think  this  evening  "  —  she  broke  off —  and  the 
hesitation  implied  absolute  dismissal. 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  go.  As  I 
moved,  Mr.  Leonid  said  to  her,  "  Have  you 
booked  places  straight  through  to  Verona?" 

"  Yes,  but  for  Tuesday,  not  Monday." 

"  Why  not  Monday  ?  You  had  better  go 
Monday." 

"  And  you  ?  " 

"  I  never  intended  to  go  Monday.  I  shall  not 
go  if  Eva  is  ill.  I  don't  stir  till  she  is  well  — 
when  she  can  come  with  us." 

"  Ah  !  "  The  exclamation  was  so  peculiar  that 
for  the  fraction  of  a  second  I  shut  my  eyes.  I 
had  an  idea  that  when  I  reopened  them  Mrs. 
Leonid,  like  some  deadly  panther,  would  have 
sprung  upon  him. 

"  Eva  will  not  go  with  us,"  I  heard  her  say 
and  her  tone  had  become  monotonous  again. 
"  We  shall  go  together,  you  and  I,  and  see  all 
the  countries  of  the  world  if  you  like  before  we 
come  back  —  but  we  are  going  alone." 
137 


MRS.    LEONID 

"  I  '11  see  to  that,"  he  answered  roughly  ;  "  if  I 
do  not  choose  even  now  to  let  this  house,  I  shan't." 

"  If  you  don't  choose,"  her  lip  curled. 

All  this  time  I  was  standing  waiting  to  take 
my  leave.  Two  women  looked  down  upon  this 
young  man  with  such  different  sentiments.  I 
saw  the  yawning  abyss  before  him,  and  Mrs. 
Leonid  driving  him  slowly  to  the  edge  of  it  — 
every  tick  of  the  clock  hastened  his  doom ;  of 
what  avail  his  recalcitrant  words? 

"  Come,"  he  said,  leaping  up  at  last,  "  I  am 
going  to  her;  I  have  never  disturbed  her  yet, 
why  should  I  now  ?  Her  fever  must  be  better  if 
she  sleeps,  and  the  crisis  must  be  past.  Thank 
God  I  have  the  nursing  of  her  back  to  strength." 

He  went  to  the  door.  Mrs.  Leonid  looked 
after  him,  but  made  no  movement  to  check  him. 
Was  it  possible  that  she  would  let  him  go  to  dis- 
covery without  a  warning?  It  certainly  seemed 
so.  He  had  almost  left  us  when  for  the  first 
time  he  recollected  my  presence  and  spoke  to  me 
with  boyish  embarrassment  in  his  apology.  I 
think  he  read  some  sort  of  understanding  in  my 
eyes. 

138 


MRS.    LEONID 

"  I  'm  awfully  sorry  to  have  been  so  rude ; 
you  see  I  was  quite  upset — such  a  horrible  thing 
to  have  Eva  ill  —  congestion  of  the  lungs,  and 
they  never  told  me." 

"  Who  is  Eva  ?  "  I  interrupted  boldly. 

"  Eva  ?  "  —  the  light  that  flashed  into  his  face 
as  he  prepared  for  explanation  made  it  positively 
beautiful.  "She  is  my  niece — Mrs.  Leonid's 
niece,  I  mean.  She  is  the  most  lovely  thing  in 
the  world ;  too  good  for  it,  though,  and  much  too 
good  for  the  next.  She  is  a  sort  of  person  that 
all  unhappy  people  should  be  able  just  to  look 
at,  not  too  closely  for  fear  they  might  hurt  her." 
He  laughed  a  little  candid  laugh  and  then  grew 
grave  again.  "  Fancy,  for  three  whole  days  I 
have  not  seen  her,  and  she  has  suffered,"  he  added 
appealingly.  "  I  could  only  send  her  violets  to 
show  her  where  my  thoughts  stayed." 

"  She  holds  your  violets,"  I  said. 

He  gave  a  start. 

"  Does  she,  how  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  have  seen  her,"  I  answered. 

He  threw  his  glance  back  to  Mrs.  Leonid  with 
angry  surprise. 
139 


MRS.    LEONID 

"  So  strangers  are  allowed  where  I  am  shut 
out.  Can  you  explain  — ?  " 

"Everything."  Her  voice  deepened  in  her 
wrath  till  it  really  resounded  through  the  room. 
"  Everything  !  If  strangers  are  allowed  to  break 
in  upon  our  private  affairs,  well  and  good,  let  us 
keep  nothing  back.  You  said  that  Eva  was  your 
niece  —  mine  if  you  like  —  but  for  Providence 
she  would  have  been  something  more  to  me, 
and  to  you.  She  died  to-day  at  twelve." 

There  are  moments  in  life  that  pass,  like  the 
scorching  of  lightning  upon  the  tree,  over  the  soul 
of  man.  The  instant  comes  and  goes  and  may 
not  be  stored  by  description.  The  fishwife  who 
learns  after  the  night's  storm  that  her  sons  have 
been  swept  into  the  vortex  of  the  ocean ;  the 
girl  who  is  told  on  the  eve  of  her  wedding-day 
that  her  lover  has  been  killed  by  a  simple  street 
accident;  the  man  mounting  the  steps  of  the 
scaffold  will  understand  what  I  mean.  They  are, 
so  to  speak,  moments  beyond  human  endurance 
—  yet  endured. 

Such  a  moment  had  come  to  my  poor  Leoni- 
das.  In  Mrs.  Leonid's  opinion  he  had  stood 

140 


MRS.    LEONID 

with  his  back  to  the  wall  long  enough  —  he  was 
even  reckoning  on  escape — and  she  struck  him 
to  the  earth. 

I  never  remember  anything  so  ghastly  as  the 
silence  that  followed  her  words.  If  only  he  had 
cried  out  and  raved  as  a  young  man  in  such 
suffering  might  rave ;  but  no,  he  stood  stock 
still  and  the  features  of  his  face  under  a  sort  of 
ashen  hue  appeared  blurred ;  of  his  eyes  I  saw 
nothing  but  the  dark  sockets. 

And  the  woman  went  on  talking  in  spite  of  it 
all ;  no  longer  angrily,  now  she  had  delivered  the 
blow,  but  sententiously  —  stupidly. 

"  I  would  have  broken  the  truth  to  you  more 
carefully,  but  this  lady  appears  to  take  a  vast 
interest  in  other  people's  business;  her  house- 
hunting should  be  rather  an  amusing  occupation. 
Eva  was  unconscious,  she  would  not  have  known 
you ;  she  died  without  pain,"  and  while  she  gab- 
bled I  watched  him.  "  The  funeral  will  be  on 
Monday.  Then  on  Tuesday  we  will  start;  it  will 
be  the  very  best  thing  in  the  world  for  you,  the 
very  best." 

She  ceased  and  I  heard  the  utterance  of  quaver- 
141 


MRS.    LEONID 

ing,  husky  words  such  as  might  be  spoken  by  a 
senile  old  man.  "They  're  lying  to  me — lying 

—  lying — "  and  he,  moaning  like  an  animal  in 
pain,  slid  back  from  the  door  against  the  wall. 
With  all  the  significance  in  the  world  Mrs.  Leonid 
took  his  place  and  opened  the  door  for  me. 

And,  coward  that  I  was,  I  was  thankful  to  go 
now  —  quickly  from  this  hateful  house,  about 
which  she  would  ask  me  no  more  questions  nor 
expect  any,  I  knew  well. 

If  only  once  I  could  have  gone  up  to  Cyprian 
Leonid  and  taken  his  head  to  my  breast  like  a 
mother  and  kissed  him  for  Eva's  sake,  how  glad 
I  should  have  been.  As  I  went  out  he  turned  his 
eyes,  grown  luminous  again  and  full  of  an  ineffable 
sorrow,  upon  me.  In  the  ha^l  I  heard  her  repeat 

—  drawl  the  words  without  a  quiver  of  emotion  : 
"  Don't  stand  there,  you  had  better  sit  down. 

Let  us  go  over  the  route  now,  it  will  distract 
your  thoughts  ;  "  and  he  answered  her,  this  time 
in  a  tone  grown  horribly  mechanical,  "  Yes," 
and  again  "  yes." 

My  hansom  had  been  waiting  an  hour.  As  we 
drove  off,  I  saw  that  the  light  in  the  Venetian 

142 


MRS.    LEONID 

lamp  was  extinguished,  and  the  doorway  in  com- 
plete shadow ;  the  raven  knocker  was  not  to  be 
seen.  It  suited  my  mood  to  believe  it  hopping 
beside  me  as  I  went ;  faster  and  faster,  a  real  bird 
of  ill-omen,  croaking  cruel  mandates. 

Of  course  I  had  had  no  explanation  really; 
nobody  had  told  me  why  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Leonid 
were  man  and  wife,  why  that  strange  hard  woman 
had  thrown  a  glamour  over  his  young  personality. 
"  Glamour  ?  "  What  a  surmise  !  I  flung  it  from 
me ;  she  was  a  demon,  a  vampire ;  my  unortho- 
dox soul  shrank  from  the  union  with  fierce 
protest.  Yet  there  it  was  —  existent  —  unchang- 
ing —  the  thing  that  has  to  be. 

How  well  I  could  picture  those  travellers ;  he 
bowed  in  figure  —  aged  •= —  asking  at  first  from 
every  rose-garden  and  lemon-grove  and  poppied 
field  blessed  memories,  and  she  driving  him  ever 
on  with  matter-of-fact  words  and  intelligent  syn- 
opses of  historical  fact,  drugging  him  with  con- 
stant cold  change  till  she  had  bound  him  hand 
and  foot,  altogether  submissive  to  her  conventions, 
leading  him  blindfold,  the  only  friend,  Azrael,  that 
he  would  ever  smile  to  see  again  and  greet. 
143 


MRS.    LEONID 

As  we  emerged  from  Kensington,  the  clock  on 
the  barracks  indicated  five.  "  So  one  hour  of 
tragedy,"  I  said,  "  and  all  life  appears  of  different 
complexion."  But  I  felt  that  the  normal  would 
be  reclaiming,  before  long,  its  hold  upon  my  con- 
stitution, as  indeed  most  successfully  it  has  done. 
I  drove  to  Hay  &  Horner,  and  found  the  office 
open,  and  the  clerk  still  with  the  ledger  in  his 
hand,  dotting  down  fresh  addresses. 

I  went  up  to  him  and  threw  his  crumpled  cards 
upon  the  desk. 

"  One  house  is  dirty  —  the  other  hideous  — 
the  third  —  "  I  hesitated  a  second,  not  for  lack 
of  an  epithet,  but  from  a  sudden  feeling  that  to 
this  complacent  clerk  it  would  miss  its  point  — 
"  the  third,"  I  repeated  lamely,  "  won't  suit." 

He  readjusted  his  glasses  with  an  air  of  sur- 
prise, and  consulted  the  ledger. 

"  No.  13  Pandora  Terrace,  that  is  ?  You  do 
not  like  the  house  ?  I  am  astonished  ;  it  is  beau- 
tifully decorated,  they  tell  me,  and  that  must  have 
appealed  to  you.  Mrs.  Leonid  is  a  lady  of  such 
taste." 


144 


THE    LAUREATE 

"  Who  knows  what 's  fit  for  us  ?  "... 


THE    LAUREATE 

i HE  bacon  fizzles;  there  are 
possibilities  in  the  scones ; 
my  eggs  have  not  bust. 
Wake  up,  Alban." 

Joss  Harvest  spoke  over 
his  shoulder  as    he  moved 
his    hands     actively    about 
the    kitchen    range. 

"  How  it  rains,"  his  companion  remarked  from 
the  window-ledge. 

"Yes,  it's  the  deluge  —  do  be  persuaded.     I 
have  been  cook,  clerk,  nurse  to  you  these  last  few 
days.     I  can't  leave  you  in  this  exile  —  come." 
"No,  Joss." 

"  Heavens  !  what  perversity  !  " 
Harvest  emptied  the  fried  eggs  and  bacon  into 
a  Delft  dish. 

"  Eat  at  least,  and  let 's  have  another  argu- 
ment." 

Alban  Broad  smiled.  He  came  towards  the 
food  standing  on  the  bare  wooden  table.  The 
young  men  sat  together  now  in  parley. 

"If  you  would  only  believe  me,"  declared  Joss, 
his  mouth  full,  and  entreaty  in  his  honest  blue 


THE    LAUREATE 

eyes,  "there's  no  outlet  for  your  genius  here. 
How  can  you  rhapsodize  on  a  clay  soil  in  a 
draughty  farmhouse  at  this  time  of  year?  A 
treatise  on  decaying  agriculture  may  perhaps 
result —  but  a  poem —  !  " 

"  Wrong.  The  back-water  of  things  breed 
inspirations;  from  my  point  of  view  this  is  a 
back-water  of  no  mean  interest." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  of  my  strange  lovers." 

"  Lovers  ?  There  are  lovers  all  the  world 
over." 

"  Ah,  but  there  's  a  purpose  about  mine  that 
asks  to  be  immortalised." 

"  Nonsense,  you  're  pale  as  a  ghost ;  you  've 
overworked  your  strength  and  let  that  cursed 
imagination  get  the  better  of  you.  Do  you  sup- 
pose any  one  would  recollect  you  as  the  champion 
swimmer  of  Summertown,  as  the  tinder-box  of 
New  ?  To  get  off  the  line  of  life  as  you  're  doing 
spells  disaster." 

"You  exaggerate,"  said  Alban,  a  shadow  on 
his  eyes  ;  "  but  of  course  to  you,  with  your  con- 
ventional ideas,  my  action  seems  extraordinary." 

148 


THE    LAUREATE 

"It  seems  to  me  simply  waste  of  time  and 
talent,  old  chap." 

"  Something  grows,"  came  the  retort,  "  some- 
thing indefinable.  Besides,  the  place  holds  a 
charm.  The  sun  shines  on  occasions,  you 
know." 

He  gave  a  little  gesture  towards  the  homely 
walls  of  the  kitchen,  where  they  breakfasted,  to 
the  rain-streaked  diamond  panes,  and  laughed. 

Joss  Harvest  leant  on  his  elbows  moodily. 
He  resented  his  lack  of  influence  with  his  life- 
long friend,  but  curiosity  stirred  as  to  the  force 
that  withstood  him.  They  had  been  boys  to- 
gether, later  college  comrades,  till  the  parting  of 
the  ways  took  Harvest  to  the  City  and  sent  Alban, 
with  an  adequate  income  assured,  afloat  on  the  tide 
of  independence.  He  had  always  borne,  through 
the  twenty-three  years  of  his  life,  the  stamp  of  a 
certain  genius,  but  so  sanely,  so  placidly,  a  future 
of  action  had  seemed  before  him,  offering  the 
artistic  soul  of  the  actor  the  greater  possibilities ; 
and  now  — 

"  What  keeps  you  here,  tell  me  then  ?  "  Har- 
vest, at  this  point  of  reflection,  began  again. 
149 


THE    LAUREATE 

Alban  pushed  back  his  plate,  and  flung,  on  an 
impulse,  the  window  wide.  "  How  can  one 
explain  by  explaining  ?  I  'm  enamoured  of  my 
world  out  here,  and  that 's  about  all." 

As  in  close  proximity  they  looked  out  together, 
the  fast-falling  rain,  blown  inward  by  a  strong 
westerly  wind,  stung  the  faces  of  the  young  men  ; 
Alban's,  dark,  clean-cut,  eager,  his  lower  lip  mov- 
ing nervously  between  his  teeth  ;  Joss's,  round, 
weather-beaten,  anxious,  his  hand  tugging  at  a 
fair  moustache,  his  blue  eyes  contracted. 

The  whole  landscape  before  them  lay  in  mist. 
A  slight  rising  of  ground  towards  the  horizon, 
otherwise  a  perfect  flatness  of  dull  brown  and 
early  green.  The  second  week  of  April  had  yet 
to  run,  the  spring  was  late.  Between  the  level, 
unhedged  fields  a  river  coursed,  swollen  now,  and 
overflowing  its  banks,  and  casting  a  light  of  tur- 
bulent water  over  the  monotony  of  the  land. 
Through  the  dampness  of  eyelash  they  peered 
beyond,  and  another  farm  near  the  river  could  be 
seen,  beside  it  a  mass  of  foam  beneath  the  mill- 
wheel,  and  a  group  of  stunted,  still,  leafless  fruit- 
trees.  A  road  led  onward,  speaking  of  distant 

150 


THE    LAUREATE 

habitations  to  be  reached,  the  only  touch  of  hope 
in  the  desolation  of  the  moment. 

Joss,  gazing  along  this  road,  made  an  involun- 
tary movement  in  sudden  hatred  of  the  outlook. 

"  To  get  away  !  "  he  cried.  "  I  have  n't  got 
your  soul." 

"  One  wants  an  emergency  one  to-day,"  he  was 
answered  apologetically. 

"  Tell  me,  all  the  same,"  insisted  Harvest,  with 
an  effort,  "  what  there  is  about  your  lovers." 

"  Do  you  really  want  to  know  ?  Here  *s  the 
fly  coming  —  your  time  is  getting  short." 

"  Go  on." 

"  She  lives  in  that  farm,  and  he  in  the  town. 
In  body  and  spirit  they  are  alien  to  these  parts. 
It  seems  as  if  some  one  had  brought  her  here  from 
another  planet,  and  the  man  had  followed  as  a 
matter  of  course.  They  dance  into  verse  after  a 
single  glance." 

"  1  see,"  gibed  Joss  ;  "  middle-class  accidents 
—  a  village  Hampden  with  his  Maid  of  Athens. 
I  prefer  the  two  ends  of  the  pole,  the  primitive 
animal,  or  the  refinement  of  the  civilized 
machine." 


THE    LAUREATE 

"  If  only  you  could  see  them,"  Alban  cried, 
warming  to  his  subject;  "they're  wonderful." 

"In  beauty  and  in  love,  I  suppose  ;  like  the  mil- 
lion after  all.  In  what  else  are  they  wonderful  ?  " 

"  You  may  ask.  They  see,  they  aspire  —  do 
the  million  do  that?  Their  passion  is  in  their 
very  finger-tips  —  but  their  souls  won't  have  it. 
With  all  their  pulses  beating,  they  've  chained 
themselves  to  the  stars." 

Joss  made  a  slight  grimace. 

"  Don't  tell  me  that  you  're  slipping  into  the 
swaddling-clothes  of  the  anti-socials.  You  know 
as  well  as  I  do  how  that  will  end.  Illicit  love  has 
really  had  its  turn  in  literature." 

"  There  is  no  illicit  love  here." 

"  Not  yet  perhaps,  but  there 's  an  end  to  be 
reached." 

"  I  feel  as  if  the  ending  were  in  my  hands," 
said  Alban,  doggedly. 

"  Then,  for  God's  sake,  force  on  the  old-fash- 
ioned denouement;  burn  their  pamphlets  while 
they  wander  at  sunset,  drag  her  rational  garments — 
I  'm  sure  she  wears  'em  —  under  the  mill  wheels, 
finish  off  your  last  canto  in  the  old,  old  way,  and 

152 


THE    LAUREATE 

come   back  to  me  for  a  good   drubbing.     You 
must  n't  get  decadent,  old  chap." 

Joss  spoke  with  an  eloquence  foreign  to  his 
slow  tongue,  but  he  had  a  quick  wit,  and  the 
madness  in  the  situation  which  excited  his 
friend's  fancy  annoyed  him. 

But  Alban,  watching  through  the  window, 
whispered  excitedly  — 

"  Here  they  are,  down  by  the  wicket.  Come 
and  look  at  them." 

At  the  end  of  the  little  brown  garden,  undis- 
turbed by  the  drenching  rain,  a  man  and  a  girl 
stood.  They  had  stopped  in  their  walk  to  watch 
the  swollen  river  surging  up  almost  to  their  feet. 
The  girl  had  her  face  turned  in  profile.  A  soft 
green  hunter's  tam-o'-shanter  was  drawn  over  her 
brow,  a  long  cloak  covered  her  to  her  heels,  but 
the  line  of  neck  and  shoulder  could  be  conceived 
as  supremely  graceful. 

"  She  reminds  me  of  La  Mola,"  and  Joss 
recalled  in  thought  his  one  meeting  with  the  Span- 
ish dancer,  when  men  talked  of  her  as  the  splen- 
dour of  the  day ;  to  his  friend  he  remarked  with 
purposeful  consistency : 
153 


THE    LAUREATE 

"  She  's  not  my  sort." 

"  And  him  —  look  at  him,  then." 

The  young  man  faced  them.  He  wore  a  dark 
sailor's  beret;  his  soft  collar  of  blue  linen  was 
unharmed  by  the  damp.  His  serge  ready-made 
coat  and  cycling  breeches  could  not  detract  for 
an  instant  from  the  athletic  grace  of  his  form. 
The  fire  in  his  eyes  as  he  spoke  to  her,  gave  great 
vivacity  to  his  face.  Later,  Harvest's  glance 
wandered  to  the  almost  girlish  clearness  of  com- 
plexion, to  the  soft  moulding  of  his  open  lips. 

"  You  say  he  is  a  printer  in  Corleston.  There 
is  no  accounting  for  the  soil  where  these  things 
grow.  If  he  had  been  a  hunchback,  a  cripple,  I 
might  have  believed  in  his  pure  soul ;  the  exist- 
ing combination  is  fantastic  and  unnatural." 

"  Ah,  I  thought  I  'd  make  your  prejudices 
tremble.  Are  n't  they  made  for  the  thing  that 
binds  men  low,  and  is  n't  it  superb  that  they  're 
determined  on  angel  wings  here ;  does  n't  their 
mastery  of  themselves  deserve  to  be  immor- 
talised ? " 

Joss  laughed;  recovering  from  his  surprise  he 
regained  his  role  of  denunciator. 

154 


THE    LAUREATE 

"  It 's  all  very  well ;  for  the  mere  fact  of  their 
birth  I  allow  they  are  remarkable  to  look  at, 
but  of  the  seriousness  of  their  resolves,  what 
makes  you  sure  of  it  ?  Their  telling  you  is  no 
criterion." 

"  They  've  told  me  nothing,  we  greet  each 
other  sometimes,  that's  all.  In  search  for  sym- 
pathy they  dare  n't  risk  disappointment.  They 
must  give  the  Philistine  the  go-by.  Their  walls 
are  not  impregnable,  alas  !  " 

"  Why  should  you  be  allowed  to  scale  'em, 
then  ?  " 

"  Seriously,  I  'm  brought  into  touch  with  them 
only  in  so  far  as  anybody  who,  watching  con- 
tinually, weaves  coherence  from  coincidence. 
They  amaze  me.  Sometimes,  in  the  forest, 
it's  true  I  follow  them,  I  hear  them  talking — " 

"  Look  here,  old  chap,"  remarked  Joss,  "  I 
can't  say  I  like  you  as  eavesdropper." 

Alban  reddened. 

"  I  suppose  you  'd  order  me  to  play  the  school- 
master and   bully-rag  them  with  good  advice  — 
tell  them  to  have  their  banns  read  and  give  them 
a  homily  on  family  life." 
155 


THE    LAUREATE 

"Well,  what  would  happen  to  the  world  if  we 
all  fixed  on  the  same  resolve  ?  " 

"  I  think  the  world  would  look  up  a  bit,"  he 
was  answered. 

Joss  snorted. 

"  Your  lovers  are  fit  enough  to  marry  in  all 
conscience.  Tell  them  to  take  their  best  chance. 
To-morrow  —  soon  enough  —  they  '11  grow  old 
and  bored,  crying  out  for  the  waste  of  years. 
Besides,  are  n't  they  afraid  of  the  parents  —  what 
the  people  about  here  will  say  ?  " 

"  What  the  people  about  here  will  say,"  Alban 
fixed  his  dreamy  gaze  on  three  fat  geese  in  the 
meadow,  the  only  sign  of  life,  now  that  the  lovers 
had  moved  away,  "  What  people  ?  The  cow-herd  ? 
The  farmer  ?  They  live  in  another  sphere.  The 
parents  do  not  want  the  girl  to  marry  —  they  are 
accustomed  to  young  people f  walking  out.'  Mary 
is  their  pride  —  what  questions  should  they  ask  ? 
No,  I  wait  for  a  larger  test  than  what  people  will  say." 

"But  you  yourself,"  implored  Joss. 

"As  a  man  I  gauge  them  sanely,  that's  the 
worst  of  it,  but  as  a  poet,  no.  They  summon 
to  my  imagination  all  those  voices  of  mystery 

156 


THE    LAUREATE 

which  keep  one  alive.  I  think  through  them. 
Even  if  I  fail  to  do  them  justice  in  verse,  I  shall 
reach  nearer  to  my  own  possibilities." 

There  was  a  rumble  in  the  farmyard,  and  the 
expected  fly  rattled  in. 

"You  know,"  Joss  threw  a  last  word  as  he 
went  out  to  it,  "  that  those  are  the  creatures  who 
commit  suicide  hand  in  hand.  Romeo  and 
Juliet  were  well  enough  ;  they  'd  lived  a  little  ; 
but  new  fashions  of  the  same  thing  are  nasty." 

"If  they  commit  suicide,"  Alban  followed  with 
a  laugh,  "  they  will  have  pronounced  their  creed 
a  failure.  I  shall  return  to  London  after  the 
funeral,  and  spend  my  declining  years  between 
St.  James's  Street  and  Monte  Carlo.  Mean- 
while you  can  tell  Roscut  and  the  rest  of  the 
chaps  at  White's  that  I  'm  travelling.  If  this 
production  of  mine  fails  I  don't  want  them  to 
think  me  a  complete  ass." 

"Of  course."  Joss  was  relieved  by  this  first 
sign  of  downright  common-sense  and  convention- 
ality in  his  friend.  "  But  come  back  to  us  soon." 
He  turned  suddenly.  "You  can't  think  how  I 
hate  leaving  you  for  my  office." 
157 


THE    LAUREATE 

"And  I  hate  to  lose  you."  Alban  laid  his 
hand  affectionately  in  his  friend's. 

He  stood  for  some  time  bareheaded  between 
the  milk-pans  on  the  stone  threshold  of  the  house 
and  watched  the  labouring  of  the  fly  up  the  muddy 
road.  He  almost  wished  that  it  contained  a 
woman,  for  then  there  would  have  been  that 
signal,  the  flutter  of  a  handkerchief  in  the 
distance. 

He  turned  into  the  kitchen  at  last  and  shut  the 
door.  He  took  the  little  book  from  his  pocket, 
the  pages  covered  with  close  writing,  and  read  the 
glowing  lines,  the  rapt  imaginings  which  interest  in 
these  lovers  had  inspired.  Yet  loneliness  and 
depression  seemed  suddenly  to  fall  upon  him. 
After  all,  what  he  had  been  telling  Joss  he  in- 
tended to  do,  would  he  ever  carry  it  out  ?  Had 
he  the  genius  to  make  a  success  in  verse  of  what 
in  all  probability  would  be  in  fact  a  mere  decay 
of  enthusiasm  and  effort  into  failure.  Six  months 
these  lovers  had  been  walking  on  air,  clinging  to 
their  unique  resolve,  to  love  as  the  angels  love, 
without  human  desire  or  human  ceremony.  If 
they  would  only  go  away,  if  they  would  only 

158 


THE    LAUREATE 

remove  themselves  from  under  his  eyes,  he  could 
trust  himself  to  invent,  he  would  force  himself 
to  believe  in  their  good  faith  to  the  end,  and 
inscribe  it  in  dazzling  words.  But  while  they 
stayed  he  must  stay,  he  must  watch  them  fulfil 
themselves,  and  soon  —  of  that  he  was  persuaded 
—  they  would  have  to  fly  to  action  of  some  sort, 
or  know  their  ideal  perishable. 

Alban  soliloquised  standing  by  the  hearth,  but 
he  was  entirely  restless.  His  cap  and  mackintosh 
hung  upon  a  hook  on  the  door ;  he  took  both 
down  and  put  them  on. 

"Caesar,  how  it  rains!"  he  exclaimed  again, 
"  but  I  must  go  out  and  move  along." 
.  The  garden  was  patched  with  a  series  of  pud- 
dles. The  heavy  clay-soil  clung  to  his  boots  as 
he  walked  and  followed  the  way  of  the  lovers. 
They  were  diminutive  forms  in  the  distance  now. 
The  path  on  the  river-bank  had  long  since  been 
obliterated  by  the  rising  waters,  and  he  ploughed 
through  meadow-land  saturated  and  disagreeable. 

At  the  gate  of  the  other  farm  stood  Mary's 
father,  a  handsome,  well-sized  yeoman ;  within 
the  house,  bending  to  menial  work  with  corpulent 
159 


THE    LAUREATE 

content,  Mary's  mother.     Alban  approached  the 
farmer. 

"Terrible  weather  these  days,"  he  said. 

"  Ay,  sir,  it  means  mischief.  Do  you  hear  the 
roaring  waters  ?  I'm  afraid  for  my  dam." 

"  Can  you  do  nothing  to  strengthen  it  ? "  he  said. 

"Nought  now  —  just  trust  in  Providence  for 
this  night.  The  rain  may  cease  —  otherwise  "  — 
he  checked  himself,  there  was  a  look  of  fear  in 
his  eyes. 

Alban  swept  the  sky  with  a  glance,  the  heavier 
clouds  were  sailing  across,  there  was  a  general 
lifting  upon  the  horizon. 

"  Ah,"  said  he, "  it  will  soon  be  over  —  a  sunny 
evening."  In  spite  of  the  farmer's  fatalism  his 
spirits  rose. 

But  all  through  the  day  the  rain  still  fell,  the 
wind  blew,  sighing  in  the  chimney,  whistling 
through  cracks  and  crevices,  till  towards  night 
there  was  a  lull.  In  his  evening  walk  once  more 
he  met  the  lovers.  When  they  came  face  to  face 
with  him  their  eyes  were  sparkling.  She  was 
looking  at  her  man,  but  he  was  looking  onwards. 
'  Alban  looked  at  Jasper  also. 

160 


THE    LAUREATE 

"That  mouth,"  he  thought,  "would  be  a 
painter's  joy,  but  it  is  not  what  I  want.  He 
must  square  his  jaw  for  his  task.  I  declare  I  will 
speak  to  them  of  their  purpose,  test  their  mettle  for 
once;  it  should  send  me  to  work  till  midnight." 
'  "  Good  evening,"  he  said  ;  "  we  meet  often." 

"  Yes,  sir."     Jasper  raised  his  hat. 

"  You  are  lovers,"  Alban  ventured  boldly. 

"  Comrades." 

The  answer  fell  from  her  lips  clearly. 

"  That  means  more,  does  n't  it,  between  men 
and  women  ?  Will  you  tell  me  how  much  more 
—  if  you  love  ?" 

"  Oh,  we  love." 

They  glanced  at  each  other ;  a  perfect  compre- 
hension adorned  their  smile. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Alban,  "  that  I  have  a 
confession  to  make.  One  day,  down  in  the  forest 
of  Mall,  where  we  find  equal  pleasure  to  stroll  since 
the  snow  melted,  I  listened  to  your  resolvings." 

They  flushed  simultaneously,  but  holding  each 
other's  hands  there  crept  into  their  attitude  a 
certain  pride. 

"We  have  no  secret." 
161  ii 


THE    LAUREATE 

"  It  should  not  be  a  secret,"  replied  Alban 
gravely ;  "  you  would  make  a  gospel  —  many 
want  a  new  one." 

"  A  new  one  ?  No,  —  to  explain  the  truth  of 
the  old."  Mary  spoke  again,  and  as  if  from  a 
familiar  book. 

"  But  nature,"  Alban  paused. 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  certain  dread. 

"  Don't  remind  us,"  she  said ;  "  all  things  can 
be  subdued,  even  nature." 

"  Glorious !  You  who  have  so  indubitably 
drunk  from  her  breasts,  how  will  she  repay  such 
traitors?  How  are  you  going  to  dissolve  the 
trinity  ?  Love  without  pain  and  joy  is  nothing." 

"  We  have  joy,"  she  answered. 

"  We  have  not  lost  pain,"  said  Jasper  in  a  low 
voice. 

Alban  was  struck  by  the  inflection  of  anxiety. 
•He  turned  upon  the  man,  and  for  the  fraction  of 
a  second  seized  from  his  handsome  face  and 
mentally  engraved  an  expression  of  distraction. 
It  passed,  and  the  features  resumed  the  exultant 
cast  of  a  Standard  Bearer,  mating  in  glow  with 
Mary's  brilliant  face. 

162 


THE    LAUREATE 

Yet  Alban  repeated  to  himself,  "  Good,  the 
action  hastens ; "  then  he  turned,  impelled  to 
silent  listening  by  the  noise  of  the  river. 

"  The  waters  are  threatening,  sir,"  —  Jasper  had 
the  same  impression  —  "  God  grant  that  the  dam 
hold." 

"  With  reverence  I  echo."  Alban  raised  his 
hat.  "  This  afternoon  I  saw  one  magpie." 

"  And  we  a  butterfly,"  smiled  Mary,  innocent 
of  the  superstition  attached  to  his  remark. 

"  But  that  was  fortune  —  it  took  you  for  the 
summer." 

"  We  lost  it,"  said  Jasper.  "  Mary  would 
have  kept  it  warm  among  the  window-pots,  but  it 
fluttered  away  somewhere." 

"  Kept  warm  among  the  window-pots,  and  it 
would  not?  After  all,  the  butterfly  would  not, 
you  will  not,  and  I  will  not.  We  are  in  an 
insecure  position  all  round.  Do  you  think  destiny 
when  she  catches  us  will  send  us  to  her  truant- 
school  ?  May  she  be  merciful,  so  that  you,  I, 
and  the  butterfly  may  in  durance  vile  come  to- 
gether again." 

But  they  hardly  followed  his  quaint  philoso- 
163 


THE    LAUREATE 

phies,  their  train  of  thought  was  in  a  measure 
simple,  their  road  was  broad  and  lightly  peopled, 
they  had  no  use  for  sophistries,  for  tangled  by- 
ways ;  at  least  the  girl  had  not,  but  Jasper  had 
felt  weaknesses  which  to  her  were  unknown. 
Her  lofty  gaze  was  unclouded;  in  his,  indicating 
trouble,  were  reserves.  Reserves,  inexplicable  to 
himself,  and  hidden  from  her  because  of  her 
perfect  faith  and  innocence,  and  consequent  per- 
ceptive limitations,  but  in  their  nature  and  origin 
clear  as  day  to  the  penetration  of  the  poet. 

He  watched  them  both  intently.  The  young 
tree  of  knowledge,  he  knew,  bent  and  swayed 
beneath  the  weight  of  this  Adam  and  Eve  of  a 
new  century ;  it  had  no  root.  Their  fate  was  so 
unquestionable ;  yet  he  returned  to  his  first  curi- 
osity at  the  moment  of  meeting.  He  could  not 
let  them  escape  yet.  He  lit  a  cigarette,  still 
standing  in  their  path. 

"Then  you  are  lovers,"  he  reiterated;  "com- 
rades, rather.  You  have  between  you  the  utmost 
share  of  human  beauty  and  human  affection,  that 
goes  without  saying.  What  then  ?  You  marry  ?  " 

"  Marry  ?  Why  should  we  ?  "  She  flung  the 

164 


THE    LAUREATE 

ardent  reply  to  him.     <c  We  cannot  love  more. 
We  are  going  soon  to  the  cities  to  work." 

"Ah,  to  work." 

"  Truly  ;  people  must  work  who  love  as  Jas- 
per and  I  love." 

It  was  quaint  reasoning.  "  As  Jasper  and  I 
love."  The  words,  in  their  pathetic  simplicity, 
haunted  Alban.  Women  who  spoke  like  that 
were  bound  to  suffer,  and  men  who  know  they 
are  so  loved  must  lose  their  strength.  He  knew 
already  that  the  strength  of  the  man  was  ebbing, 
that  when  he  unharnessed  from  the  stars  she 
would  have  tragic  disillusions  ;  now  she  was  per- 
fect. How  great,  his  heart  declared,  are  innocent 
women.  Then  he  reverted  to  her  cry  for  work ; 
what  work  could  there  be  for  souls  like  these  in 
a  world  as  it  is  ?  He  dared  not  ask  her  to  ex- 
plain about  work  or  great  cities.  He  shrank 
from  any  hesitation  of  reply.  Her  certainty  of 
statement  held  such  charm.  Shyly  they  stood 
before  him,  she  still  with  her  lover's  long-fingered 
hand  in  her  short  strong  one. 

"  And  when   you  grow  old  ?  "   asked  Alban, 
involuntarily.     The  idea  of  this  rose  vividly. 
165 


THE    LAUREATE 

"  We  shall  die,"  she  answered,  "  perhaps  to- 
gether." 

She  said  it  so  gaily,  so  fearlessly,  that  the  in- 
quisitive faded  from  Alban's  intention  ;  he  relin- 
quished enquiry  altogether.  Why  should  he 
interrogate  them  as  to  their  conception  of  worlds, 
of  the  propagation  of  the  species,  of  race  instinct  ? 
What  had  they  in  common  with  such  things  ? 
His  eyes  were  hot  with  sudden  tears.  He  de- 
manded that  this  picture  should  fade  even  now  ; 
the  colours  were  too  delicate  to  stand  another 
touch  from  the  brush  of  time ;  the  slightest  turn 
of  fortune,  and  it  would  become  a  daub. 

He  moved  from  them  to  hide  his  emotion. 

"  Good  night,"  he  said,  turning  on  his  heel. 
"  Since  we  have  been  talking  the  sun  has  deigned 
to  set ;  it  has  thrown  a  bar  of  gold  into  the  hor- 
rible greyness.  If  my  wishes  could  make  the  sun 
rise  next  to  continued  happiness  and  unfaltering 
endeavour  for  you,  you  have  those  wishes.  I  am 
here,  you  know,  hiring  this  farm,  and  living  with- 
out much  purpose.  We  may  meet  again  — 
good  night." 

He  went  back  to  his  work,  writing  by  candle- 

166 


THE    LAUREATE 

light  late.  His  thoughts  tumbled  upon  paper  in 
a  sudden  frenzy  of  inspiration ;  with  the  roar  of 
the  river  in  his  ears,  he  wrote  as  if  against  time, 
like  a  man  with  a  last  chance. 

"  It  reads  more  like  an  elegy  than  anything 
else,"  he  said  to  himself,  moving  up  the  creaking 
stairs  at  midnight  to  bed. 

Two  hours  later  he  was  awakened  by  the  hurry 
and  loud  voice  of  a  bearer  of  bad  news. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  he  said,  sleepily. 

"  The  dam 's  burst  —  that 's  what  't  is.  Far- 
mer 'Olroyd's  farm's  swept  off;  the  tide 's  tur- 
rible."  The  ploughman  stood  there  gasping,  his 
ill-shapen  hat  still  on  his  head,  and  the  water 
dripping  down  the  edge  of  his  corduroy  trousers 
over  his  clogs  to  the  floor. 

Alban,  to  check  loquacity,  flung  himself  from 
the  bed,  and  into  his  clothes. 

"  I  'm  coming,"  he  said. 

All  his  manhood  was  aroused  to  excitement  by 
this  crisis.  He  felt  with  strong  dramatic  instinct 
that  an  hour  pregnant  with  incident  was  dawning 
for  him,  that  analytical  thought  would  be  swept 
away  by  sound  action.  The  news  was  not  unex- 
167 


THE    LAUREATE 

pected.  The  possibility  of  such  a  fate  had  hung 
before  many  during  the  interminable  rainfall, 
only  luck  more  often  than  not  saved  situations 
ripe  for  disaster,  but  not  this  time.  That  the 
catastrophe  should  have  come  with  malice  in  the 
dead  of  night  was  to  him  of  small  moment,  so 
long  as  he  could  seize,  from  personal  contact  with 
it,  fresh  experience.  There  would  be  a  pale -moon 
between  the  angry  clouds  to  light  the  anxious 
scene.  He  left  the  slow-tongued  labourer  un- 
questioned, and  they  went  out. 

As  he  had  guessed,  there  was  a  watery  moon 
and  a  cessation  of  the  rain. 

As  far  as  eye  could  reach,  one  tremendous 
sheet  of  water  swept  on  its  course  ;  not  placidly, 
as  floods  sweep  over  fields,  but  pouring  onwards 
with  wrathful  violence,  like  a  captured  sea  re- 
leased. The  district  had  always  seemed  lonely, 
but  as  vultures  to  carrion  or  flies  to  flowers,  out 
of  nowhere  apparently,  drawn  irresistibly  by  the 
fast-travelling  news  of  disaster,  a  crowd  had 
gathered. 

A  crowd,  not  merely  the  impotent  watchers  of 
the  destruction  of  wood  and  stone,  of  the  sweep- 

168 


THE    LAUREATE 

ing  away  of  human  handiwork  by  the  angry 
forces  of  nature,  but  a  whispering,  anxious  crowd, 
moving  with  varying  gestures,  as  if  it  held  knowl- 
edge of  grave  importance. 

"  Are  all  safe  ?  "  asked  Alban  of  the  man  near- 
est him. 

"  The  boat  carried  the  farmer  and  his  wife  and 
the  farm  girls,  but  the  daughter  would  not  come. 
She  was  waiting  for  some  one,  she  said;  you  can 
see  her  yet." 

And  truly  upon  the  shapeless  accumulations 
round  the  roof  that  still  showed  above  the  waters, 
there  was  evidently  a  figure. 

"  What  did  she  wait  for  ?  " 

"  For  her  lover,  some  say  —  Jasper  Stansted  — 
fool's  play,  I  call  it,"  his  informant  grunted. 

"  But  he 's  come,  he 's  fetching  her  —  surely  he 
has  gone  to  the  rescue  ? " 

Alban's  voice  was  eager,  his  heart  beat  violently. 
Fierce  desire  for  physical  effort  in  this  danger 
seized  him.  By  heavens,  if  her  lover  did  not 
save  her  soon,  at  any  risk,  he  must.  What  were 
these  people  thinking  of? 

His  eyes  had  grown  accustomed  to  the  dim  light, 
169 


THE    LAUREATE 

to  the  whiteness  of  the  faces  in  it,  to  the  ugly  things 
that  swept  by  him  in  curls  of  foam  and  spume  — 
dead  horses  and  calves  amidst  the  beams  of  wood, 
and  pans  and  troughs  and  garden-rails  all  sliding 
on  too  fast  in  a  surging  torrent  for  even  the  nim- 
blest hand  to  clutch.  Heavens,  it  might  be  her 
body  soon,  for  on  this  cold  night  her  strength  could 
not  last  forever  :  she  must  be  reached  quickly  and 
brought  to  safety.  There  should  not  be  much 
difficulty  in  it.  Where  was  Jasper  ?  Struggling 
somewhere,  probably,  to  approach  his  love. 

"  The  boat !  Where  's  that  boat  ?  "  And  there 
came  to  his  enquiry,  almost  at  his  elbow,  a  man's 
sobbing  answer. 

"  The  boat,  they  can't  reach  her  with  the  boat." 

"  Then  how  ?  " 

"  By  swimming —  there  's  a  small  channel  left. 
A  rope  from  the  boat  and  a  strong  swimmer 
could  do  it,  they  tell  me." 

"  And  you,  Jasper  Stansted  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  swim,"  he  groaned,  and  stretched 
out  his  arms  across  the  water. 

A  curious  contempt  for  the  man  possessed 
Alban  for  a  period.  Again  he  was  the  dissector. 

170 


THE    LAUREATE 

He  could  have  written  fine  lines  as  he  inflicted  his 
torture. 

"  But  with  the  boat  you  could  get  near,  quite 
near,  indeed.  You  could  step  across  the  rubbish 
with  the  help  of  the  rope  ;  there  is  at  least  a 
chance  —  the  boatman  may  have  been  deceived." 

Jasper  was  crying  like  a  child. 

"  It 's  no  use,  but  I  want  her  !  My  God,  I  want 
her.  She  must  live  — she  's  got  to  live,"  he  be- 
sought ;  "  save  her  for  me  !  " 

"  Ah,  you  would  have  been  greater  if  you  had 
died — both  of  you,"  Alban  answered  between  his 
teeth. 

But  instantly  his  natural  manliness  reasserted  it- 
self, and  drove  his  meaner  genius  to  the  background. 

"  Listen,"  he  went  on,  feeling  that  he  was 
judging  hardly,  but  prompted  by  a  sudden  de- 
sire to  rid  himself  of  the  thing  that  had  failed 
him, "  I  have  been  waiting  long  to  see  the  mean- 
ing of  your  dream :  now  I  don't  mind  risking 
my  life  to  celebrate  your  awakening.  I  said  I  'd 
immortalise  you.  How  can  I  ?  You  're  like  all 
the  rest,  crushed  at  the  first  test." 

And  he  swung  round  on  his  heel. 
171 


THE    LAUREATE 

"  Bring  that  boat  here,"  he  cried,  "  and  be 
quick  about  it." 

The  heavy  punt,  too  full  already  of  helpers, 
came  on  slowly  and  nearer  to  him. 

"  Get  out  of  that,  we  don't  want  overloading  ; 
one  man  —  the  best  rower  and  the  coolest  head 
—  a  coil  of  rope  —  that's  well." 

Jasper  crept  after  him  with  grateful  words. 
But  Alban's  voice  sounded  to  him  above  the 
roar  of  waters. 

"  Don't  speak,  don't  say  anything  to  me 
now,  I  can't  listen  to  you,  but  if  I  bring  her 
back,  swear  that  you  take  her,  as  a  man  must 
take  a  woman  who  loves  him.  There  is  nothing 
worth  exchanging  for  such  love."  It  puzzled 
him,  as  he  said  the  words,  that  his  inexperience 
could  find  such  positive  assurance  in  them.  Yet 
he  cried  out  again  with  stronger  insistence.  "  Swear 
that  you  will  marry  her,  work  for  her,  go  down  to 
a  future  death  by  her,  even  as  you  wish  to  live  by 
her  now  —  swear." 

Jasper  echoed  readily. 

"  I  swear  —  how  gladly  I  swear." 

Then  hearing  the  tone  of  relief,  the  tone 

172 


THE    LAUREATE 

without  hesitation,  eager  for  any  oath  that 
might  bring  comfort,  Alban  laughed  out,  and 
taking  his  little  book  from  his  pocket  he  flung  it 
into  the  stream. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  "  shove  off." 

He  took  the  second  pair  of  oars.  He  swung 
steadily  against  the  strong  waters  till  the  sweat 
poured  down,  the  eyes  of  all  the  crowd  upon 
him. 

His  mind  alternated  between  two  thoughts  ;  the 
moment  just  passed  with  the  man,  the  moment 
that  was  to  come  with  the  woman :  that  he 
dreaded.  Mary  was  so  strong.  He  felt  that 
she  would  have  no  gladness,  rather  misery,  in 
the  assurance  of  the  compact ;  if  she  believed  his 
disclosure,  which  was  unlikely,  she  might  then 
and  there  fling  herself  into  the  water,  preferring 
to  sacrifice  herself  to  the  nature  she  defied,  rather 
than  yield  to  it.  It  would  be  better  to  wait  till 
he  had  gathered  her  to  safety  before  he  told  her 
—  much  better,  he  decided.  How  good  that  this 
struggle  for  her  life  should  be  allowed  him,  and 
yet  to  what  life  would  he  return  her.  It  was 
absurd ;  but  for  the  moment  he  wished  himself 
173 


THE    LAUREATE 

the  lover.  Jasper  would  have  no  power  to  ex- 
plain to  her  brave  soul  the  true  union  of  flesh 
and  spirit ;  life  with  him  would  but  accentuate  the 
cleavage.  But  at  this  moment  the  blood  coursed 
through  his  veins  with  an  exultation  which  no 
unrest,  no  scruples  or  fear  could  overpower. 
Quite  simply  and  naturally,  without  a  suspicion 
of  undue  pride,  he  felt  that  he  had  entered  the 
lists  of  everyday  heroism,  and,  however  covetous 
his  imagination  for  experience,  he  knew  no  future 
moment  could  surpass  in  satisfaction  the  action 
of  the  present. 

He  rowed  on  silently  with  his  companion. 
The  water,  with  dark  objects  floating  here  and 
there  upon  it,  swirled  round  the  boat;  the  line 
of  people  on  the  banks  had  grown  quite  distant ; 
a  little  further  only,  and  their  goal ! 

There  was  no  doubt  about  it,  the  boat  could  not 
advance  to  within  a  hundred  yards  of  the  roof, 
the  lumber  sweeping  about  in  the  eddies  threat- 
ened now  to  swamp  it.  The  two  rowers  rested 
on  their  oars  and  consulted.  Mary  could  be 
seen  quite  plainly ;  she  was  crouching  by  the 
chimney,  the  water  rising  round  her  feet.  Alban 

174 


THE    LAUREATE 

waved  to  her,  and  she  answered  him,  but  with  a 
halting  movement,  as  if,  as  she  waved,  she  won- 
dered who  could  be  waving  to  her,  and  hoped 
against  hope. 

He  surveyed  the  position  quickly. 

"  I  see  a  quiet  channel  there.  Tie  this  rope 
firmly  round  my  waist,"  he  directed,  twisting  it 
as  he  spoke.  "  Can't  you  make  a  double  knot, 
man  ;  that 's  a  clumsy  business,  but  I  dare  say  it 
will  hold.  Now  pay  it  out  as  I  jump  in.  With 
the  turns,  I  reckon  the  channel  a  hundred  and 
twenty  yards.  I  leave  you  my  coat.  Are  you 
sure  you  can  steady  the  boat  here  ? " 

"Yes,  sir." 

Alban  plunged  overboard,  and  struck  out 
boldly.  He  needed  caution  and  confidence,  but 
the  expert  swimming  of  school-days  stood  him  in 
good  stead.  He  smiled  as  he  moved,  and  his 
teeth  gleamed  above  the  parting  water.  Every- 
thing round  him  loomed  so  largely  in  the  im- 
perfect light. 

"  Alban  among  the  icebergs,"  he  said  ;  "  verily 
this  water  is  as  cold  as  the  Arctic  sea.  If  only 
Joss  could  see  me  now ! " 


THE    LAUREATE 

Through  all  the  intricacies  of  the  stream  he 
reached  her  at  last,  and,  dragging  himself,  dripping, 
shivering,  to  her  level,  he  held  out  his  hand. 

"  I  've  come  to  fetch  you." 

"  Where  is  Jasper  ?  "  In  her  tone  there  was  a 
whole  world  of  disappointment. 

"  You  see,"  he  replied  quizzically,  "  Jasper 
can't  swim." 

"  But  he  might  have  come,"  she  insisted  illogi- 
cally. 

"  Ah,"  Alban  retorted  in  a  low  voice,  "  so  I 
said  ;  you  were  ready,  were  n't  you  ?  —  almost 
waiting  to  die  together  ?  Is  n't  that  so  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  eagerly.  "  I  suppose 
I  could  have  got  away  before.  I  did  n't  realise 
the  danger,  and  when  I  did  realise  it,  I  thought 
he'd  come  either  for  life  or  death  —  it  didn't 
matter  which." 

Alban's  teeth  chattered,  he  felt  a  numbness 
of  spirit  as  she  explained,  which  exceeded  the 
coldness  of  his  body. 

"Jasper  wants  you  to  live,"  was  all  he  said; 
"  you  must  trust  yourself  to  me.  Are  you 
coming  ? " 

176 


THE    LAUREATE 

"  I  suppose  so." 

She  moved  reluctantly.  In  her  isolation  there 
had  been  no  fright ;  her  world  was  of  dreams  ; 
this  terrible  flood  seemed  almost  to  belong  to  the 
strenuousness  of  her  ideals,  and  found  its  place 
quite  naturally  in  them. 

"You  are  kind,"  she  said  at  last,  as  if  her 
gratitude  had  been  an  afterthought  and  she  was 
ashamed. 

"  See,"  he  ordered,  "put  your  arms  round  my 
neck  quite  lightly,  thus.  We  are  in  no  danger 
really ;  I  will  carry  you  on  my  back.  Don't  be 
frightened  at  the  coldness  of  the  water,  the  boat 
is  close." 

She  obeyed.  As  she  clung  to  him,  Alban 
turned  once  and  looked  into  her  face  closely,  so 
that  he  might  even  distinguish  its  expression  in 
the  dim  light.  It  was  a  beautiful  face,  round 
which  the  long  hair  hung  loosened  and  rippling 
over  the  lines  of  the  neck;  her  brow,  wide,  serene, 
seemed  like  a  blank  page  for  tragedy's  imprint, 
her  eyes  were  bright,  but  they  looked  away,  as 
she  mechanically  trusted  herself  to  her  preserver 
—  away  into  the  distance  where  she  knew  Jasper 


THE    LAUREATE 

must  be  standing.  Then  feeling  the  nearness  of 
Alban's  gaze,  she  recollected  herself,  bent  her 
head  and  kissed  him  on  the  hand. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "  foolish  as  I  must 
seem,  I  believe  you  understand." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  understand,  God  knows," 
and  he  slipped  into  the  water  with  her. 

He  swam  a  few  long  strokes,  then  he  set  his 
teeth,  for  he  knew  the  rope  had  loosened  from 
its  knot,  and  the  slightest  catch  or  strain  would 
free  it  altogether.  He  swam  on  the  faster,  for, 
among  the  timber  and  branches  that  impeded  the 
way,  it  would  go.  The  little  hands  clung  to  him 
firmly,  yet  as  loosely  as  possible  ;  there  was  no 
fear  in  her  grasp.  Yet,  to  him,  delicate  and  un- 
trained, the  weight  was  great,  and  the  cold  biting. 
He  breathed  heavily,  and  the  water  now  and  then 
lapped  into  his  nostrils,  for  a  slight  breeze  had 
risen  again  after  the  calm  into  which  the  day's 
gale  had  fallen.  The  shape  of  the  boat  he  saw 
already,  but  it  seemed  to  have  dropped  a  little  on 
the  waters  —  to  be  farther  than  when  he  started. 
Once  round  the  corner  of  this  pile,  the  current 
would  serve  his  purpose,  and  carry  them  quickly. 

178 


THE  LAUREATE 

His  eyeballs  started  uncomfortably,  his  breath 
whistled  in  his  throat,  but  they  approached  safety, 
and  he  focussed  every  thought  upon  this  for  her 
sake  ;  it  gave  him  forced  strength.  Already  they 
were  nearer;  a  few  strokes  more — nearer  still. 
The  buzzing  in  his  head  was  frightful.  His 
thoughts  began  to  play  about  his  compact  with 
Jasper,  about  the  effect  of  the  new  order  upon  the 
girl.  Then  the  loosened  rope  slipped  off  him. 
For  the  first  time  his  nerve  faltered :  he  saw  the 
moving  oars,  as  the  rower  kept  the  boat  upstream, 
he  heard  now  the  creaking  in  the  rowlocks.  The 
boat  was  almost  over  them ;  then  he  threw  up 
his  arms. 

"  Take  her,"  he  gasped,  hoarsely,  "  take  her  — 
take  her." 

In  an  instant  the  burden  was  released  from  his 
shoulder ;  even  in  the  agony  of  his  cramp  he 
knew  she  was  safe ;  but  they  missed  his  hand  as 
the  stream  carried  him  on.  He  struggled  a  little, 
feeling  the  uselessness  of  it. 

"  A  queer  immortality,  this,"  he  cried  out,  as  the 
waters  stole  his  breath  and  sucked  him  down. 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

"The  little  Black  Rose  shall  be  red  at  last; 
What  made  it  black  but  the  March  wind  dry  ? " 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

,FTER  all,"  she  said  to 
herself,  "  if  I  'd  only  had  a 
chance."  She  meditated, 
leaning  over  the  balcony, 
above  the  street.  A  stroll- 
ing  player,  glancing  up  at 
her  beauty,  checked  his 
wanderings,  and,  to  his  guitar,  sang,  in  a  full 
tenor  voice  : 

"  Ninon,  Ninon,  que  fais-tu  de  la  vie  ?  " 
Then  his  dark  eyes  sparkled.     She  threw  francs 
to  him  lightly,  almost  as  one  might  blow  kisses. 

But  this  passing  music  had  fired  reflection. 
It  flamed  in  her  almost  to  despair.  She  felt  sud- 
denly old,  and  lookect  tne  more  youthful.  The 
life  she  had  lived,  all  marked  and  blurred,  moved 
through  her  memory  till  the  tears  welled. 

"It  would  have  been  different  if  I  'd  had  a 
chance,"  she  repeated,  and  went,  sighing,  into  her 
shuttered  room. 

The  clock  had  just  struck  two.     A  light  breeze 
•stirred  the  tall  poplars  in  the  park  of  this  fashion- 
able  French   watering-place.     In  the    shade  the 
people  strolled,  or  sat  inertly  upon  yellow  metal 
183 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

chairs,  as  if  the  mineral  waters  had  even  dissolved 
their  commercial  importance  in  the  world.  A 
blare  of  trumpets  floated  from  the  pavilion. 

She  came  on  to  the  balcony  again,  noting  all  the 
scene,  but  yawning  still  from  her  midday  sleep. 
The  serenader  had  passed  to  other  windows.  He 
left  her  dissatisfied.  She  tried  to  convince  herself 
that  a  week  of  absolute  solitude  had  brought 
salvation  to  body  and  spirit,  but  all  the  time 
knew  well  that  she  had  reached  a  stage  of  perilous 
boredom. 

"Why  is  my  life  to  be  continual  tumult?" 
she  murmured.  "  A  parson's  wife  —  six  children 
—  a  country  vicarage  —  my  real  vocation  missed." 
This  was  her  avowed  mental  attitude,  but  a  buz- 
zing sprite  in  the  background  of  thought  sang  to 
another  tune.  "  The  devil  was  sick,  the  devil  a 
saint  would  be,  The  devil  got  well  '.  .  ."  Then 
came  a  moment  of  complete  absorption  ;  it  thrust 
all  musing  into  space.  The  omnibus  from  the 
station  rattled  up  to  the  hotel ;  she  saw  that  an 
Englishman's  valet  and  an  Englishman's  luggage 
were  in  possession. 

This   was  obvious.     The   Saratoga  trunk,  the 


THE    GREAT   GOD    CHANCE 

Belgian's  bag,  the  French  paper  box,  had  passed 
or  stopped  a  score  of  times.  But  the  wholesome 
leather  portmanteaux,  with  their  green  bands,  the 
square  letters,  "  J.  C.,"  the  crocodile-skin  dressing- 
case,  the  clean-shaven,  straight-cut  servant  giving 
orders  to  the  French  waiter  like  a  general  on 
a  battlefield  —  about  these  there  could  be  no 
mistake. 

A  compatriot  at  last !  How  she  had  hated  the 
French  crowd  hanging  around  everywhere.  The 
narrow-brimmed  straw  hats,  the  clipped  beards, 
the  fluttering  bow-ties,  the  exaggeration  of  cour- 
tesy, or  oftener  the  insolent  cap-a-pied  stares  — 
all  were  odious.  She  was  a  woman  alone,  it  was 
true ;  but  she  wore  no  paint  as  their  women  alone 
did,  and  her  eyes  flashed  a  bold  disdain  of  all 
petty  amenities.  What  reason  had  she  given 
them  to  doubt  her  respectability  ?  With  each 
draught  of  tepid  water  at  the  fountain  she  had 
felt  herself  sucking  in  a  fierce  virtue.  Then  alone 
in  her  little  room,  banked  with  roses  and  corn- 
flowers she  would  laugh  till  the  tears  came  at  the 
recollection  of  her  march  of  defiance,  of  the  im- 
perious tilt  of  her  head  as  she  strode  through 
185 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

gaping  ranks  in  the  public  gardens,  like  a  goddess 
surprised. 

"  If  they  only  knew  about  me  really,"  she 
laughed  again,  and  as  suddenly  grew  grave.  The 
blood  had  rushed  into  her  cheeks  from  pleasurable 
anticipation  at  the  arrival  of  an  Englishman;  now 
with  self-reproach  as  she  watched  the  road  she 
cried  out  to  herself,  "  Douchka,  you  speak  to  no 
man  while  you  are  here." 

After  all,  that  was  a  definite  determination  she 
had  arrived  at.  She  was  starting  a  new  life.  She 
had  her  studio  and  the  talent  to  work  in  it  when 
she  returned  from  this  cure :  what  need  to  get 
mixed  up  with  other  people's  interests  ?  She 
had  left  Claud  six  months  ago  and  in  result  had 
won  back  all  her  self-respect,  all  her  natural  purity 
of  mind.  She  was  free  to  touch  the  best  things 
with  clean  hands,  for  she  had  been  true  to  herself 
at  a  cost  that  atoned  in  her  estimate  for  the  things 
over  and  done  with. 

People  had  known  about  it  —  oh,  yes,  and  they 
would  remember  too  —  that  was  part  of  the  pen- 
alty—  but  she  would  live  it  down  —  she  would — 
Her  thought  trailed  off,  a  smile  stole  over  her 

1 86 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

mobile  face ;  the  Englishman  was  swinging  down 
the  road. 

He  wore  a  straw  hat  set  at  a  slight  angle,  he 
looked  like  a  soldier  without  the  proverbial  mous- 
tache. His  face  was  distinctly  attractive,  possibly 
handsome,  he  was  tall  and  wore  the  right  clothes. 

Then  he  ran  up  the  steps  of  the  hotel  and  she 
put  her  hands  to  her  eyes  with  an  involuntary 
movement. 

"  I  don't  want  to  see  him  closer."  Her  heart 
needed  the  assurance. 

Later  she  went  out  wearing  on  her  glinting  hair 
a  muslin  bonnet  wreathed  round  with  marguerites, 
and  holding  up  soft  skirts  from  the  dust.  The 
hall  was  empty  ;  but  a  blue  telegram  in  the  rack 
bore  the  address  —  "  Julian  Carrender."  "  Why 
don't  they  give  it  to  him,"  she  considered  ;  "  he 
sleeps  undoubtedly,"  and  she  passed  down  the 
passage  on  tiptoe. 

That  afternoon  she  loitered  under  the  arcade 
and  among  the  shops.  She  turned  corners  with 
trepidation  and  avoided  the  Casino,  dawdling 
eventually  to  the  river  where  only  patient  fishers 
stood  and  dabbled  long  lines  to  wary  fish,  or 
187 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

washerwomen  scrubbed  clothes  and  laid  them  in 
crumpled  heaps  upon  the  bank  to  dry.  Here  at 
any  rate  she  would  not  meet  him  face  to  face ; 
even  with  this  belief  she  went  expectantly. 

From  the  top  of  the  acacia  avenue  that  flanked 
the  main  promenade,  she  could  see  the  portico  of 
the  hotel.  As  she  turned  homewards  later  she 
looked  towards  it ;  the  Englishman  was  coming 
down  the  steps,  quickly,  as  if  he  had  an  object 
in  view. 

The  impulse  to  approach  him  was  irresistible. 
Douchka  continued  her  path,  but  without  look- 
ing to  right  or  left  he  crossed  it.  She  saw  him 
pass  the  obsequious  ga^on  at  the  restaurant  who 
had  run  forward  expecting  an  order,  and  enter 
the  Casino  as  if  it  were  familiar  ground.  Evi- 
dently he  had  been  here  before.  It  was  absurd  to 
imagine  that  he  sought  the  reading-room ;  the 
latest  papers  from  England  must  be  in  his  pocket, 
and  in  his  hotel  apartments,  ink  and  pens  to 
spare.  Perhaps  he  had  friends  to  meet  him  in 
the  Casino ;  perhaps  —  she  drew  her  breath 
sharply  as  the  notion  came  —  perhaps  he  was  a 
gambler. 

1 88 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

For  her,  gambling  had  no  attraction.  Those 
who  sat  all  day  and  night  in  a  stuffy  atmosphere 
staking  silver  pieces  cautiously  on  toy  horses 
whirling  round,  had  ever  seemed  to  her  idlers 
and  fools.  Surely  Mr.  Carrender  —  she  played 
with  his  name  —  could  not  wish  to  mingle,  even 
as  a  student  of  human  nature,  with  that  rabble  of 
most  hideous  and  untidy  composition.  Then 
she  remembered  the  baccarat  rooms,  and,  unques- 
tioned by  the  attendant  at  the  desk,  she  passed 
full  of  curiosity  between  the  glass  doors  that  led 
to  them. 

The  little  tables  in  the  corner  of  the  large 
gilded  hall  were  hemmed  in  by  men  and  women 
upon  whose  faces  even  at  this  early  hour  the 
garish  electric  light  cast  a  cruel  illumination. 

Eyes  heavily  shadowed  were  set  upon  the 
vagaries  of  the  cards ;  hands  displaying  flashing 
rings  as  if  to  divert  attention  from  broken  nails 
and  sometimes  twisted  finger-tips,  fidgeted  con- 
tinually with  the  counters  on  the  green  cloth,  or 
twitched  aimlessly. 

It  was  such  a  silent  game  this  —  one  could 
hear  a  pin  drop.  Douchka  pushed  in  beside  the 
189 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

man  who  held  the  bank.  The  fixed  eyes,  the 
restless  hands,  the  complete  stillness,  these  things 
interested  her,  until  she  saw  Carrender. 

For  lack  of  a  seat  he  stood ;  he  had  been  so 
short  a  time  at  the  table  that  the  expression  of 
indifference  with  which  he  had  approached  the 
players  had  not  faded  before  the  tense  look  of 
the  habitual  gambler  quite  possessed  him.  But 
Douchka  saw  the  fading,  saw  the  narrowing  of 
the  lips,  the  droop  of  the  brow,  the  shifting 
movement  of  the  eyelids,  the  gradual  disappear- 
ance of  the  boyish  candour  which  had  been  there 
at  her  first  glance. 

She  grew  white  to  the  lips  as  she  realised  what 
he  was.  "  My  chance,"  she  said  to  herself, 
and  for  half  an  hour  she  waited,  watching  him 
from  the  other  side  of  the  table.  In  that  time 
he  won  continually ;  then,  as  if  bored  by  such 
persistent  luck,  he  turned  half  away,  looked  over 
his  shoulder  and  encountered  her  gaze. 

They  spoke  in  that  look  to  each  other  on  the 
instant.  Her  soul  leaped  out  between  her  lashes 
imploringly ;  he  almost  divined  her  words,  for  he 
reddened  to  the  roots  of  his  hair  and  sauntered 

190 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

presently  round  to  where  she  stood.     For  some 
minutes  elbow  to  elbow  they  watched  the  game. 

"  You  don't  like  gambling,"  he  said  to  her  at 
last  in  English. 

"  No,"  she  answered  at  once,  pleased  that  he 
had  not  mistaken  her  nationality. 

A  cadaverous-looking  Belgian  sitting  below 
them  stared  up  as  they  spoke.  He  was  accus- 
tomed to  quick  recognitions  in  this  room ;  to 
sudden  consultations  as  to  the  play.  As  they 
turned  and  walked  out  together,  he  resumed  his 
game  with  a  significant  shrug. 

In  the  vestibule  of  the  Casino  Julien  Carrender 
continued  talking. 

"  It  is  ridiculous,"  he  observed  with  a  laugh, 
"  but  you  made  me  feel  ashamed  of  myself,  you 
looked  so  like  my  mother  —  no,"  he  added  as 
she  smiled  deprecatingly,  "you  know  what  I 
mean  —  the  reproach  in  your  eyes.  I  'm  a 
hardened  sinner  in  most  things,  but  I  would  n't 
have  spoken  to  you  otherwise,  —  you  feel  that, 
don't  you  ?  I  seemed  to  owe  you  an  apology." 

"  Why  an  apology  ?  "  she  asked  moving  slowly 
into  the  garden. 
191 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

He  was  embarrassed.  He  wanted  to  go  on 
talking  to  her,  but  he  felt  that  his  excuses  to 
draw  her  into  closer  personal  relation  to  himself 
were  feeble. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  said  quickly. 

But  she  helped  him  out. 

"  Are  you  a  gambler?"  she  asked,  throwing  a 
tone  of  commiseration  into  her  voice. 

In  sheer  self-defence  at  her  pity,  he  forced 
himself  to  speak  lightly. 

"  A  gambler  ?  Of  course  I  'm  one.  Do  you 
think  that  so  very  dreadful  ? " 

"  I  hope  you  're  fortunate,"  she  said  gravely ; 
"  most  gamblers  I  have  known  suffered  from 
despair  —  but  you  —  you  —  ?  "  She  broke  off, 
afraid  to  continue. 

He  stood  still  in  her  path  ;  he  threw  reserve  to 
the  winds. 

"  Most  gamblers  that  you  know  suffer  from 
despair,  do  they,"  he  repeated.  "  Do  you  won- 
der ?  It 's  like  poison  in  one's  veins,  the  game. 
I  've  tried  to  cut  it  at  home  —  in  India  I  nearly 
got  chucked  out  all  round.  After  the  row,  my 
nerves  went  to  pieces,  and  the  doctors  told  me  to 

192 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

drink  waters.  I  looked  up  the  places  and  I  came 
here,  because  they  said  that  one  could  play  all 
day  and  all  night,  and  Englishmen  were  scarce. 
This  year  I  have  come  again.  Now  you  see  that 
I  'm  a  coward  into  the  bargain." 

She  trembled  at  this  unexpected  revelation  of  a 
twin  life.  Her  own  complicated  weakness  and 
suffering  matched  his,  she  would  have  given  any- 
thing to  confess  it.  Instead,  she  drew  herself  up 
with  the  air  of  a  queen.  She  pursed  her  red 
lips. 

"  If  one  starts  to  go  down  hill  "  —  she  began. 

He  stopped  his  ears  with  a  frown. 

"  Don't  lecture  me,"  he  said,  "  or  you  '11  make 
me  wish  I  had  cut  my  tongue  out  rather  than  talk 
to  you.  After  all,  you  have  only  just  begun  life 
—  you  Ve  probably  got  everything  guarded  for 
you.  That  is  what  I  guess  by  your  face ;  it 's 
pure  and  compassionate  enough.  I  must  seem 
such  a  beast  to  you." 

He  spoke  quickly,  with  great  simplicity,  and  in 
a  moment  of  tumultuous  feeling  for  them  both 
she  dared  not  trust  herself  to  reply. 

The  waiter  on  the  doorstep  of  the  hotel 
193  13 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

watched  them  returning.  His  lymphatic  body 
clothed  a  hopeful  soul. 

"It  would  be  good,"  he  considered,  "  that 
milord  and  madame  were  acquainted."  These 
English  people  had  stupid  ways  —  they  avoided 
table  d'hote,  they  asked  to  dine  in  their  salon  — 
sapristi !  perhaps  the  two  would  dine  together 
now,  so  much  the  better. 

About  this,  however,  he  made  a  faulty  calcula- 
tion. Not  for  several  days  did  Douchka  meet 
Julian  Carrender  again.  They  touched  then  on 
the  weather  from  neutral  ground,  and  passed  on, 
till  one  afternoon  he  sent  up  to  ask  if  she  would 
drive  with  him. 

"The  days  are  so  long,"  he  said,  looking  at 
her  with  admiration  as  she  came  down  to  him, 
a  vision  in  blue  muslin,  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you 
about  this  wicked  world.  I  'm  always  thinking 
about  your  eyes  —  the  way  they  look  at  things," 
the  occasion  seemed  to  warrant  the  frankness  of 
the  remark. 

She  laughed  and  they  drove  away  happily  into 
the  sunny  French  country. 

Since  the  day  they  met  she  evaded  difficulty 

194 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

by  closing  every  talk  with  a  hurried  formality. 
She  tortured  herself  in  the  intervals  with  doubts 
and  fancies,  sinking  at  one  moment  into  shame 
at  the  hypocrisy  of  the  virtuous  airs  she  assumed 
with  him,  then  rising  to  glad  heights  in  the 
knowledge  that  he  believed  in  her. 

"  He  thinks  my  face  pure  "  —  she  mocked  to 
herself  in  the  glass —  "  why  are  men  blind  ?  " 

In  the  morning,  going  to  the  spring,  he  would 
swing  out  earlier  than  she  could  start,  and  if  she 
appeared  on  the  balcony  he  would  bow  with  a 
bright  smile.  It  seemed  a  sort  of  atonement  for 
the  hours  which  he  spent  later  in  the  Casino ; 
there  she  never  attempted  to  follow  him  again. 
He  was  grateful,  as  he  played,  that  she  was  ab- 
sent, that  he  did  not  see  her  about  the  hotel  when 
he  turned  in  late  to  bed,  almost  always  a  loser, 
yet  craving,  altogether  ashamed,  for  the  morrow's 
chances. 

But  her  very  avoidance  of  his  occupation,  gave 
her  fuller  empire  over  his  imagination.  To-day 
he  asked  her  to  drive,  for  he  felt  that  at  any  cost 
he  must  see  her,  and  when  she  came  readily  he 
felt  keen  pleasure. 
195 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

They  drove  on,  talking  gaily. 

"  Are  n't  you  bored  here  ?  "  he  asked  her. 
"  Have  n't  any  of  your  people  come  out  ?  " 

"  What  people  ? "  she  answered  innocently. 

"  Your  husband,  I  suppose,  and  all  the  rest  of 
them  ? " 

11  My  husband,  and  all  the  rest  of  them,"  she 
evaded ;  "  no,  I  am  a  very  independent  sort  of 
person." 

"  I  'm  sure  you  are,  but  they  ought  n't  to  leave 
you  alone.  I  should  n't,"  he  went  on  eagerly, 
"  if  I  were  married  to  you." 

She  cast  her  eyes  upon  an  old  peasant  woman 
bending  over  a  strawberry  plot.  At  this  in- 
stant she  wished  she  could  change  places  with 
her. 

"You  would  n't  ?  "  she  said  at  last.  "  It 's  a 
bore  not  to  be  left  alone,"  and  her  tone  rang 
coldly  to  him. 

"Now  you  think  me  cheeky,  Mrs.  Waring  — 
you  see  I  know  your  name — Madame  Waring, 
said  the  waiter  to  my  British  questioning." 

She  laughed  out  now. 

"  When  people  are  very  solitary  what  foolish 

196 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

things  they  will  take  up.  Do  you  ask  questions 
about  all  the  people  you  see  in  the  Casino  ?  " 

She  was  instantly  sorry  that  she  had  resorted  to 
badinage,  for  he  became  quickly  abashed. 

"  Why  should  I  ask  questions  about  these 
brutes  ?  You  know  you  're  not  in  the  least  like 
any  one  else  here." 

"  Then  I  'm  flattered,"  she  touched  his  arm 
apologetically.  After  this  they  were  silent  for  a 
little.  The  driver  explained  to  them  points  of 
view  as  the  loosely  reined  horses  clattered  along 
the  dusty  road.  There  was  a  great  satisfaction  in 
the  present,  she  felt  —  in  the  verdure  of  the 
woods,  in  the  green  hills  that  surrounded  them, 
in  the  blueness  of  the  distant  mountains  in  the 
centre  of  France.  A  charm  even  in  the  smocked 
peasants  who,  with  pathetic  prudence,  were  tying 
roses  into  nosegays,  the  asparagus  into  bundles, 
and  gathering  fruit  into  baskets  for  the  rich  ones 
of  their  land. 

They  reached  presently  the  restaurant  at  the 
highest  point  of  the  district,  a  little  house  under 
leafy  chestnuts.  There  among  the  roses  and 
Spanish  lilacs  that  almost  embowered  the  chairs 
197 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

on  which  they  sat,  on  the  outskirts  of  a  far-spread- 
ing vineyard,  they  drank  coffee  and  fenced  with  a 
repartee  as  brilliant  as  the  butterflies  that  fluttered 
upon  the  flowers. 

Julian  Carrender  was  fascinated  by  this  woman 
who  with  perfect  frankness  of  manner  told  him  so 
much  and  yet  so  little  ;  who  eluded  him,  adopting 
on  the  one  hand  the  familiarity  of  a  mother,  on 
the  other  hand  the  witchery  of  a  coquette,  and 
who  had  not  yet  betrayed  her  Christian  name  or 
told  him  if  she  were  a  wife  or  widow. 

After  all,  he  did  not  really  wish  to  question  her. 
Her  uncommon  beauty,  her  wit,  her  delightful 
talk,  the  more  unrestrained  from  the  freedom  of 
their  surroundings  in  the  perfect  setting  of  this 
summer  afternoon,  all  gave  him  a  knowledge  of 
her  character  that  no  other  circumstances  in  the 
world  could  have  allowed.  He  grew  to  know 
her  nature  rather  than  her  history  —  an  infinitely 
preferable  affair  he  reckoned.  She  was  at  her 
best  because  he  believed  her  the  best,  and 
showed  this  in  every  look  and  gesture. 

She  grew  forgetful  of  the  past,  unmindful  of 
her  own  restrictions.  "  It  is  my  chance,"  she 

198 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

told  herself,  tossing  her  head  back  in  the  bright 
sunshine,  "  my  chance  to  save  him."  And  he, 
thinking  her  altogether  adorable,  lowered  his 
voice  to  a  great  gentleness  as,  driving  back  to- 
gether in  the  dusk,  they  talked  of  simple  matters. 
That  night  .he  did  not  go  to  the  Casino,  but  fell 
asleep  reading  a  book  which  she  had  lent  him. 

The  next  morning  he  sent  to  ask  for  her,  but 
she  had  gone  away,  the  message  came  back,  until 
the  evening.  Later,  a  motor-car  steamed  up  to 
the  hotel  and  he  was  hailed  by  a  friend  whose 
unexpected  arrival  diverted  his  thoughts  a  little 
and  kept  him  again  from  the  gaming  tables. 

"  I  have  come  for  a  few  hours  from  Paris,"  said 
Max  Foster. 

As  Foster  was  departing  towards  evening, 
Douchka  returned  from  her  expedition  to  the 
neighbouring  convent  —  a  teacher  of  her  child- 
hood was  there,  she  had  explained  to  Julian  the 
previous  day.  Both  the  men  saw  Douchka,  but 
she  only  saw  her  friend  standing  beside  the  car ; 
she  smiled  and  waved  gaily  as  she  passed. 

"  Hullo,  Julian,"    remarked    Foster,  noticing 
Carrender's  flushed  face,  "  you  're  in  luck  here." 
199 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

"  Why  ? " 

"  That  woman,"  and  Foster,  turning  his  head, 
looked  after  the  carriage  as  she  drove  on. 

"  Do  you  know  her  ?  "  said  the  other. 

"  Why,  of  course,  I  know  her —  Douchka  War- 
ing — and,  by  Jove  !  as  pretty  as  ever.  A  chance, 
man  cher;  but  you  gamblers  are  such  woman  haters ! 
She  left  Claud  Sanders  six  months  ago  for  a  path 
of  virtue.  She  lived  with  him  for  four  years." 

Julian  Carrender,  like  a  true  gambler,  as- 
sumed an  indifference  to  all  the  events  of  life. 
Unexpected  consolations  or  crashes  had  never  yet 
won  from  him  a  manifestation  of  particular  sur- 
prise or  dismay.  The  bitter  in  his  career  he  took 
with  a  certain  bravado  which  masked  a  real  cour- 
age, for  he  was  highly  strung,  and  sensitive  to  a 
degree,  and  he  lived  his  life  as  it  were  on  edge. 

But  Max  Foster's  statement,  hurled  at  him 
breezily,  to  an  accompaniment  of  whirring  motor- 
car machinery,  left  him  cold  at  heart. 

For  quite  two  minutes  after  the  cloud  of  dust 
had  shadowed  his  friend's  farewell  he  stood  still 

upon  the  road.     He  did  not  feel  exactly  disillu- 

200 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

sioned,  but  brought  to  a  complete  volte-face,  in 
his  puzzling  about  the  woman  he  most  undoubt- 
edly loved.  It  was  useless  to  juggle  with  phrases 
now,  to  assure  himself  that  Douchka  was  but  the 
plaything  of  circumstance.  She  was  a  woman 
who,  once  known,  could  not  be  forgotten.  In 
the  gallery  of  his  experience  she  was  a  master- 
piece among  counterfeits ;  she  was  unlike  any 
woman  he  had  ever  met. 

"  Douchka  Waring  lived  with  Claud  Sanders 
for  four  years  "  —  the  sentence  haunted  his  mind. 
He  had  heard  of  Sanders,  that  was  enough. 
That  it  should  have  been  thus  was  in  a 
measure  unbelievable,  yet  possible.  The  odd 
part  of  it  was,  that,  even  so,  the  character  of 
his  feelings  about  her  had  not  changed  ;  they 
seemed  to  be  established  —  to  stand  the  push  of 
contingency ;  his  ideas  merely  re-sorted  them- 
selves, and  into  his  calculations  there  crept  a 
new  excitement. 

Hitherto  he  had  chafed  that  she  seemed  im- 
measurably removed  from  him.  In  spite  of  other 
wishes,  he  had  supposed  her  married  —  unveiling 
to  him  for  a  little,  from  sheer  exuberance  of  youth 
201 


THE    GREAT  GOD    CHANCE 

in  dull  surroundings,  the  workings  of  her  mind 
as  pastime.  This  to  be  recollected  under  home 
skies  with  a  laugh,  and  "  Do  you  remember, 
Mr.  Carrender  ?  "  —  a  thread  in  the  woof  of 
some  commonplace  conversation  in  all  the  do- 
mestic restraint  of  her  castle  terrace,  to  show  that 
once  —  how  long  ago  !  —  they  had  been  intimate. 
Now  the  oppression  of  this  fear  had  faded,  giving 
place  to  other  nameless  fears. 

Yet,  in  spite  of  all  fears,  she  was  fair  game  at 
last ;  the  luck  had  turned,  the  trump-cards  were 
not  all  hers.  Carrender  was  never  more  a  gam- 
bler than  at  this  moment.  Without  her  knowl- 
edge he  had  been  suddenly  shown  her  hand, 
could  guess  at  every  motive,  would  almost  be 
able  to  read  each  thought,  and,  by  heaven,  she 
should  prove  herself!  That  was  what  he  insisted 
• —  on  that  he  would  stake  all  —  to  prove  herself 
true  in  spite  of  everything.  He  said  this  to 
himself,  remembering  her  clear  eyes ;  but  imagin- 
ing further,  and  hating  himself  the  while,  if  she 
were  wrong  he  must  leave  her  before  he  could 
ever  allow  the  wrongness  to  himself.  She  should 
not  suffer  too  much.  It  was  strange,  all  things 

202 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

considered,  that  he    felt  her  unquestionably  cap- 
able of  deep  suffering. 

Then,  with  a  certain  nervousness,  he  went  back 
to  dine  with  her. 

Afterwards,  they  sat  together  on  the  terrace  of 
the  Casino,  in  the  most  natural  way  in  the  world. 
The  soft  blue  twilight,  pierced  by  stars,  spread 
over  them. 

She  lit  a  cigarette  from  his  shyly. 

"  Do  you  think  people  about  here  will  think  it 
fast  of  me  to  smoke  ? "  she  said,  and  he  reas- 
sured her,  marvelling  at  her  complexity.  She  was 
supremely  happy  —  this  he  guessed.  He  could 
not  mistake  the  slight  tremor  of  her  hand  in  his 
when  they  met.  She  was  glad  to  be  with  him. 

She  told  him  of  her  day's  excursion,  and 
touched  lightly  on  her  girlhood  at  the  convent 
at  Amiens,  where  she  had  first  met  her  friend. 

She  could  be  remarkably  intelligent  when  she 
liked.  She  looked  out  on  le  monde  ou  I' on  i  amuse, 
and  gauged  it  with  quick  precision.  That  was 
part  of  her  charm ;  the  unusual  sense  of  pro- 
portion for  a  woman  in  her  estimate  of  things  ;  her 
sparkling  appreciation  of  uncommon  situations. 
203 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

Carrender  drifted  into  the  current  of  her  talk. 
In  answer  to  his  enquiry,"  Why  did  you  receive 
that  pretty  name  —  Douchka  ?  You  know  what 
it  means  ?  "  she  blushed  ;  "  My  father  thought  it 
the  sweetest  word  in  Russia."  She  told  him  then 
of  her  birth  in  that  country,  and  rattled  off  quaint 
descriptions  of  baby-recollections  of  the  great 
Emperor  —  of  his  Cossack  guard  —  of  the  strange 
Moscow  Kremlin.  She  forced  him  into  a  hot 
discussion  regarding  the  condition  of  the  peas- 
antry ;  of  limited  versus  absolute  monarchy,  into 
laughing  acquiescence  in  the  impossibility  of  a 
republic.  "  See  these  people,"  she  wound  up, 
waving  her  hand  towards  the  pink  chestnut  trees, 
and  including  in  the  gesture  the  over-dressed 
women  loitering  beneath  the  electric  lamps,  and 
the  fat  respectabilities  of  French  middle  class, 
who  crowded  them  uncomfortably  upon  the  ter- 
race —  "  what  an  outcome  !  "  And  he  agreed 
with  her  sweeping  conclusions,  as  he  would  have 
agreed  to  anything. 

"  You  are  charming,"  he  burst  out,  "  there  is 
nothing  you  describe  that  one  cannot  understand 
or  picture  vividly." 

204 


THE    GREAT    GOD   CHANCE 

"  So  much  perplexes  me  as  I  say  it,"  she  replied, 
a  little  wearily. 

"  Why  ?  "  he  asked,  touched  to  the  quick  by 
the  sudden  sadness  in  her  eyes.  He  had  a  great 
desire  that  she  would  hold  out  her  arms  to  him 
and  tell  him  the  truth  of  her  life.  She  looked  so 
beautiful  amidst  all  the  common  types  that  sur- 
rounded them.  But  as  he  pressed  her,  she  with- 
drew her  glance  from  his,  feeling  how  dangerous 
the  descent  to  personalities  from  the  safe  level  of 
general  topics. 

"  The  music  is  playing  all  the  time,"  she  said, 
"we  should  not  talk  too  much." 

"You  are  so  much  more  interesting  than  the 
Walkiirie,"  he  insisted,  as  the  violins  swept  the 
marvellous  phrases  into  the  still  air.  But  she  did 
not  answer  him.  A  great  anxiety  began  to  creep 
over  her. 

How  necessary  this  man  was  becoming  to  her 
existence,  she  wanted  always  to  talk  to  him,  to 
hear  him  talk  !  Their  minds  seemed  to  work 
so  much  in  unison  that  every  minute  was  joyful. 
The  hours  spent  away  from  him  had  been  emp- 
tied of  all  profit.  She  knew  that  she  interested 
205 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

him  as  she  had  wished  to  do  —  she  was  drawing 
him  thus  away  from  the  tables  —  that  was  all  as 
it  should  be.  Yet,  at  this  moment,  she  grew 
afraid  :  afraid  of  such  intimate  intercourse  and  of 
all  that  it  might  ultimately  mean.  He  thought 
her  married,  and  very  much  alone  ;  this  she  held 
for  granted,  but  he  was  such  a  gentleman,  that 
of  her  solitude  and  familiarity  he  had  taken  no 
advantage.  Still,  things  could  not  go  on  like  this 
forever. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of?  "  he  said. 

An  answer  was  needed,  and  she  invented  one. 

"  I  am  wondering  when  you  will  go  to  the 
baccarat  room  to-night." 

He  knew  that  she  replied  at  random,  but  he 
brought  another  question  forward. 

"  Don't  you  want  me  to  go  ?  " 

"  No,  oh,  no." 

'*  Then  keep  me  here." 

"All  night?"  she  bantered.  "What  about 
Monsieur  le  Docteur  and  chills  ?  " 

"Not  all  night  —  always,"  his  voice  caressed 
her. 

"Ah,  but  I  have  only  twelve  days  and  six 

206 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

hours  left  of  my    retreat  here  — c  always '  is   a 
big  word  to  use  for  that." 

"  And  afterwards  ?  " 

She  tore  in  pieces  between  her  nervous  fingers 
the  chestnut  blooms  that  had  fluttered  to  her  lap, 
yet  she  spoke  gaily, 

"Afterwards?  I  shall  return  to  England,  and 
you  will  go  to  Monte  Carlo,  where  they  gamble 
—  always." 

He  felt  a  little  ashamed  of  himself,  now  that 
she  had  got  the  best  of  this  small  passage  of 
arms.  He  had  no  right  to  drive  her  into  a  cor- 
ner. She  had  given  him  no  real  encourage- 
ment ;  he  was  taking  a  mean  advantage  of  what 
he  knew,  and  showing  himself  unworthy  of  her 
simple  confidences.  In  spite  of  her  complete 
self-command,  he  perceived  uneasiness  in  her 
expression.  But  he  ventured  one  more  word ; 
he  felt  at  the  moment  the  imperative  need  to 
speak  it  stronger  than  his  compunction. 

"I  don't  ask  it  now — but  some  day  —  any 
day  you  choose — will  you  tell  me  about  your- 
self? " 

"What  about  myself?" 
207 


THE   GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

"  The  tragedies,  the  comedies,  the  things  in 
you,  about  you,  that  make  me  care  for  you  so 
much." 

He  had  not  meant  to  go  so  far,  he  had  startled 
her.  She  sprang  up  with  almost  a  cry  —  the 
men  smoking  with  a  woman,  under  the  palm,  in 
the  corner,  looked  at  them  with  interest. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  tell,"  she  said  with  quiv- 
ering lips,  forcing  back  her  tears,  "  nothing  that  I 
can  tell  you,  except  that  I  am  a  fool  playing  with 
fire  —  that  you  've  known  all  along  —  let 's  go 
home." 

He  drew  her  cloak  round  her  as  closely  as  he 
dared  ;  with  a  whole  world  of  contrition  in  his 
voice  he  said,  — 

"  My  dear,  you  must  forgive  me  —  are  n't  you 
a  little  proud,  all  the  same,  at  having  made  an  out- 
and-out  gambler  in  love  ?  I  offered  you  an 
acknowledgment,  not  an  insult." 

She  seemed  to  be  grateful  for  this  touch  of 
humour  and  courtliness  in  his  apology.  It  re- 
assured her  as  to  her  position  in  his  estimation  — 
conscience  had  made  her  too  great  a  coward  about 
that.  In  silence  she  took  his  arm,  and  smiled 

20$ 


THE    GREAT   GOD    CHANCE 

good  night  when  he  left  her  at  the  door  of  the 
hotel. 

But  once  in  her  room  she  was  bowed  with 
miserable  sobs.  Julian  had  driven  the  infinite 
delight  of  their  relationship  by  a  few  simple  words 
into  a  hopeless  impasse.  She  had  stilled  self- 
reproach  long  ago  with  the  sophism  that  he  was 
the  shipwrecked,  she  the  rescuer.  Now  she  had 
to  face  the  truth,  the  uncompromising  knowledge 
that  all  the  time  he  had  been  merely  the  lover  to 
deceive,  and  indeed  deceived  continually,  when  he 
of  all  men  deserved  the  truth. 

In  spite  of  every  temptation  to  be  frivolous, 
what  had  he  been  but  guarded  in  his  talk,  almost 
reverent  in  his  respect  and  above  all  tender  be- 
yond measure  in  the  flashes  of  affection  which  she 
had  roused  him  to  display  ?  She  had  influenced 
him  simply  because  he  had  believed  her  good,  and 
"  I  'm  bad,  bad,  bad,"  she  repeated,  beating  her 
little  fist  upon  the  cushion  of  her  chair.  Oh,  the 
perplexity,  the  contradiction  of  it  all  !  Even 
now  her  first  thought  was  the  grief  that  no  longer 
could  she  keep  him  from  gambling,  no  longer 
urge  him  to  be  worthy  of  himself.  He  was  so 
209  14 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

worth  saving  that  she  would  gladly  have  sacrificed 
every  claim  that  her  adoration  might  have  begged 
of  him  for  herself,  if  only  he  could  gain. 

Now  that  he  had  spoken,  however,  there  was 
an  end  to  everything.  She  must  go  away.  In 
spite  of  his  avowal  he  believed  her  pure.  That 
she  was  sure  of :  if  ever  he  learnt  what  she  was, 
the  effect  would  be  too  awful  to  contemplate. 
The  driving  him  back  into  depths  of  cynicism,  of 
abandonment  to  his  besetting  sin.  By  leaving 
now  she  could  at  least  bequeath  him  ideals.  To 
go  might  be  to  disappoint  him,  to  stay  would  be 
to  degrade  him.  She  had  not  the  courage  to 
continue  playing  a  part.  To  do  him  the  best 
turn  she  could,  was  to  go.  She  stood  up  smooth- 
ing her  tumbled  hair  and  glanced  vaguely  at  the 
clock,  the  hands  of  which  pointed  to  half-past 
ten. 

She  was  convinced,  with  a  certain  triumph  in 
the  conviction,  that  to-night  Julian  would  not 
gamble. 

She  did  not  guess  that  he  paced  the  gardens 
still,  and  for  an  hour  more,  stirred  by  the  excite- 
ment of  his  own  hurried  action.  He  regretted 


210 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

nothing,  but  wondered  when  the  stress  of  events 
would  make  her  bold  enough  to  trust  him.  He 
forgot  that  he  was  a  gambler  of  uncertain  fortune 
in  the  longing  he  had  to  hold  her  for  self-preser- 
vation in  his  arms  —  to  make  her,  in  spite  of 
everything,  his  wife.  This  desire  had  grown  in 
him  with  gathering  force  during  the  hours  they 
had  spent  together  this  evening.  "  She  is  the  only 
woman,"  he  argued  simply,  —  "  be  her  past  what 
it  may  —  who  can  in  the  future  make  me  a  man." 

Douchka  heard  the  rumbling  of  the  great  doors 
of  the  theatre  as  they  closed  them,  the  patter  of 
the  feet  of  the  returning  pleasure-seekers.  She 
remembered  in  after  years  the  nature  of  these 
sounds  so  vividly  —  her  inability  on  the  instant 
to  bring  her  mind  to  a  great  decision  —  the 
silly  way  in  which  trifles  diverted  her  from  her 
purpose. 

At  last  she  took  down  the  time-table,  and 
found  a  train  to  Paris  starting  at  seven  in  the 
morning.  She  rang  then  for  the  sleepy  waiter, 
told  him  her  intention,  asked  for  the  bill  and 
wrote  the  usual  cheque,  all  quite  mechanically. 

Should  she  leave  a  letter  for  Julian,  that  was 

211 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

the  crucial  question^?  But  what  to  say  —  fresh 
lies?  Fresh  excuses?  Better  silence.  What 
right  had  she  to  assume  that  the  interest  expressed 
on  a  sentimental  evening  would  follow  her  even 
into  the  next  morning.  An  acquaintanceship  of 
ten  days  must  not  be  taxed  too  highly.  A  week 
of  fortuitous  circumstances  for  man  and  woman 
need  hardly  breed  a  lifelong  devotion.  Julian 
Carrender  for  a  year  or  two  would  probably  think 
of  her  kindly,  not  as  the  guardian  angel  which 
she  had  constituted  herself.  That  would  be 
absurd.  For  a  little  he  might  be  perplexed  about 
her  disappearance,  but  men  had  so  much  less 
curiosity  than  women.  He  would  chafe  at  first 
in  the  tedium  of  his  exile ;  he  might  play  a  little 
more  from  boredom  —  she  shuddered  as  she 
reached  this  thought,  but  continued  building  the 
card-house  of  her  self-persuasion.  After  all,  he 
had  been  between  the  devil  and  the  deep  sea. 
She,  by  her  departure,  withdrew  the  devil ;  destiny 
might  even  rescue  him  from  the  deep  sea.  It 
was  no  business  of  hers.  So  she  reasoned  —  then 
came  a  rush  of  tears. 

In  the  early  morning  she  packed  her  bag  hur- 

312 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

riedly,  dreading  a  last  look  round  the  room.  Only 
the  drooping  roses  in  the  vase,  the  torn  papers  in 
the  grate  showed  her  recent  habitation. 

At  the  appointed  time  she  drove  to  the  station 
and  caught  her  train;  it  started  indeed  too  late 
for  her  burning  desire  to  be  away. 

The  waiter,  usually  loquacious,  kept  back  on 
this  occasion  all  information,  waiting  for  Mon- 
sieur's questioning.  Julian  Carrender  refrained 
from  this  for  some  hours. 

Then  over  the  widespread  sheets  of  "  Le 
Figaro,"  he  asked  nonchalantly : 

"  Has  Madame  breakfasted  ?  " 

"  Madame  has  gone,"  replied  Pierre,  setting  a 
dish  of  strawberries  triumphantly  upon  the  table. 

"  Gone  ?  "  the  newspaper  rustled. 

Pierre  handed  the  hors-cT  ceuvres. 

"  Yes,  Madame  does  not  come  back  —  she  had 
the  short  cure  —  she  goes  to  Paris." 

"  Paris  ?  "  echoed  Julian,  turning  white. 

"Paris,"  echoed  his    informant  again  —  "but 
she  does  not  leave  the  address  of  her  hotel  "  — 
and  he  went  out  of  the  room,  for  Monsieur  dis- 
liked too  much  attention, 
213 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

"  Gone,"  exclaimed  Julian,  starting  to  his  feet 
as  the  door  closed,  —  "  without  a  word.  So  that 's 
the  end  of  it  all.  She  could  n't  see  it  out,  poor 
little  thing.  What  a  fool  I  have  been.  It's 
worse  than  I  thought.  My  God,"  he  added 
hoarsely,  "  how  much  worse  !  " 

To  Douchka  driving  through  the  streets  in 
her  prettiest  frock,  Paris,  at  the  height  of  its 
season,  seemed  like  a  City  of  the  Dead. 

She  had  hired  a  fiacre  for  the  afternoon  and 
had  driven  first  to  the  Bois;  but  the  verdant 
alleys,  the  children  at  play,  the  carriages  bowling 
past  had  added  to  her  misery  fourfold.  So  she 
went  back  to  the  boulevards ;  there,  at  least,  in 
the  moving  crowd,  at  a  street  corner,  under  an 
archway,  perhaps,  she  might  catch  sight  of  some 
man  or  woman  whose, very  attitude  or  expres- 
sion might  indicate  that  like  her  they  hid  a 
breaking  heart.  Even  this  would  be  solace  —  an 
indefinite  sympathy  for  the  great  weight  that 
crushed  her. 

Her  carriage  was  open,  but  she  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  the  admiring  looks  that  followed  her,  to 

214 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

the  brightness  on  every  side;  she  presented  a 
numbness  of  understanding  to  all  attractive 
objects  on  the  course  of  this  brilliant  afternoon. 

She  began  to  say  over  to  herself  a  familiar 
verse  learnt  at  her  nurse's  knee.  It  came  back 
to  her  with  a  kind  of  fascination  at  the  moment ; 
she  forgot  that  she  was  speaking  it  aloud ;  other 
people  beyond  herself  and  Julian  mattered 
vastly  little  just  now. 

"O'er  the  yellow  crocus  on  the  lawn 

Floats  a  light  white  butterfly, 
Breeze  waft  it !     See  it 's  gone  ! 

Douchka,  little  soul,  when  didst  thou  die  ?" 

She  looked  up  to  the  great  luminous  blue  sky 
spread  above  the  roofs  and  chimneys  and  intricate 
wires ;  "  Douchka,  little  soul,  when  didst  thou 
die  ?  "  she  cried  out  again,  for  it  seemed  to  her 
that  to  all  intents  and  purposes  she  was  dead, 
that  her  soul  had  flown  beyond  the  reach  of 
every  joy. 

The  fiacre  still  drove  on.  One  by  one,  great 
tears  coursed  down  her  cheeks.  The  bonne, 
crossing  the  street  with  her  bundle,  saw  them  and 
pitied ;  two  men  at  the  half-way  lamp  nudged 
215 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

each  other  and  one  exclaimed,  "  Via  une  p'fite 
cocotte  qua  perdu  son  homme"  but  she  did  not 
notice  him,  —  her  pain  had  escaped  control. 

At  dusk  she  reached  the  hotel  again.  She  felt 
chilly  in  her  little  room  of  dark  hangings,  and, 
though  a  summer  night,  she  lit  the  fire  and 
crouched  beside  it  to  think  and  think.  It  was 
queer  that  she  should  suddenly  feel  her  soul  dead 
—  now  of  all  times  when  she  had  made  a  great 
sacrifice.  There  had  never  been  a  question  of  a 
soul  with  Claud  Sanders.  She  had  been  with 
him  constantly,  of  course,  but  he  had  never  even 
approached  it  —  would  have  been  bored  if  he  had 
known  she  had  one.  But  from  the  very  first 
moment  of  their  encounter  her  soul  had  been 
alive  for  Julian,  and  simply  for  his  sake  she  had 
killed  it.  Oh,  yes,  she  had  killed  it.  Good  peo- 
ple in  books  would  tell  her  she  had  saved  it,  but 
that  was  untrue.  She  would  go  on  living,  prob- 
ably for  years  and  years ;  yet  she  knew  that 
through  all  time  she  would  sing,  "  Douchka,  little 
soul,  when  didst  thou  die  ? "  and  she  would 
remember  when. 

She  wondered,  if  she  had  been  courageous 

216 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

enough  to  go  straight  to  England,  whether  all 
would  have  been  easier;  yet  for  a  few  hours 
longer  she  must  remain  in  the  country  where 
Julian  was.  What  could  he  be  doing  now  ?  — 
she  had  a  sharp  surmise  he  was  playing,  playing  all 
the  time ;  it  was  quite  late  when  she  pulled  aside 
the  curtains,  the  lamps  in  the  street  were  already  lit. 

"Madame  est  servie"  said  the  patient  waiter 
for  the  second  time,  tired  at  last  of  the  indifference 
to  the  dinner  he  had  personally  ordered  and  laid 
for  her  ;  but  still  she  did  not  turn  her  head,  gazing 
down  on  the  yellow  pavement,  watching  the  flitting 
figures  upon  it,  dark  and  small. 

It  was  useless  to  expect  her  to  eat ;  so  she  sent 
him  away.  She  would  go  out  again.  People 
were  murdered  at  night  in  Paris,  the  papers  told 
her,  but  not  in  the  main  thoroughfares,  which 
were  safe  as  in  the  day.  The  gay,  strolling  throng 
would  not  remark  her,  nor  yet  those  seated  in  the 
open  cafes  ;  but  they  would  offer  a  passive  com- 
panionship ;  if  she  cried  out  at  her  trouble  they 
would  at  least  hear  and  pity  her  madness ;  if  she 
stayed  alone  she  would  be  mad  still  and  only  with 
shadows. 
217 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

As  she  went  down  the  stairs  a  new  temptation 
possessed  her.  To  go  back  at  once ;  to  pretend 
that  she  had  been  away  to  fetch  a  summer  hat  — 
to  design  a  newer  frock  —  to  laugh  lightly  —  to 
invite  Julian's  intoxicating  words  —  to  encourage 
them  —  finally  to  yield  herself  to  him  easily,  to 
become  — 

The  word  in  her  mind  awoke  an  awful  horror, 
a  perfect  medley  of  recollections.  "  Not  that,  not 
that,"  she  moaned,  "  even  if  I  die." 

Greedy  for  the  night  air  to  cool  her  aching  head, 
she  pushed  past  three  American  girls  standing  in 
the  hall  with  a  roughness  that  caused  them  to  turn 
and  stare,  till  in  the  fresh  empty  streets  she  became 
more  self-possessed. 

The  Rue  de  la  Paix  was  strangely  silent ;  it 
had  passed  through  its  day's  conquests  and  hid 
the  morrow's  temptations  under  a  veil  of  silence, 
of  desertion.  Douchka  remembered  her  amuse- 
ment there  with  Claud ;  how  she  had  urged  him 
to  extravagance  and  piled  dresses  and  hats  at  night 
upon  each  other  as  they  were  delivered,  till  their 
salon  grew  impossible,  and  he  had  insisted  on 
dragging  her,  in  spite  of  a  violent  cold,  to  the 

218 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

Petit  Paillard,  to  the  Jardin  de  Paris,  because  he 
declared  "  to  eat  dinner  in  a  lumber  room  was 
a  d — d  sight  too  much  for  him."  What  a  differ- 
ent woman  she  was  now,  what  a  different  man 
was  Julian  Carrender  ! 

As  she  emerged  upon  the  boulevards,  the  cafes, 
crowded  with  little  tables,  the  people  drinking 
from  long  glasses  or  from  coffee-cups,  smoking 
out  into  the  still  air  and  dawdling  idly,  all  re- 
minded her  that  in  the  baccarat  rooms  at  Pelon 
he  was  probably  playing  for  dear  life.  She 
conjured  up  his  face ;  fretful  from  disappoint- 
ment, he  would  grow  reckless,  he  would  lose 
continually,  and  curse  her  in  his  heart. 

The  further  she  went,  the  more  in  her  mind 
Julian  the  gambler  obliterated  Julian  the  lover. 
Detached  from  herself,  she  began  to  see  his  career 
with  renewed  clearness.  She  began  to  suspect 
that  she  had  checked  his  course  for  only  a  very 
little  ;  and  the  more  strongly  for  the  check,  would 
it  draw  him  onward  to  his  ruin.  As  she  hurried 
—  for  she  began  to  fear  her  solitude  —  she  swept 
by  a  drinking  house.  It  was  full  of  players  — 
low-class  Parisians.  Eager,  turbulent,  silent, 
219 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

desperate,  as  the  case  might  be,  in  the  collection 
each  face  struck  her  shifting  -glance,  and  she 
trembled  as  she  passed  on. 

She  crossed  the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  between 
the  automobiles  and  the  rustling  noiseless  flight 
of  bicyclists,  and  went  down  under  the  trees  by 
the  Seine.  What  she  had  done,  what  she  was 
doing,  all  the  while  pursued  her.  She  became 
quaintly  aware  that  she  had  read  her  own  history 
in  many  novels.  "  It 's  odd  that  life  should  be 
like  books,"  she  said ;  then  her  thought  reached 
the  usual  suicide.  But  the  river  was  dark  and 
horrible,  and  she  turned  from  the  skulkers  by 
the  parapet.  There  was  the  vigour  of  sanity, 
after  all,  beneath  her  grieving.  From  that 
moment  it  asserted  itself. 

Twenty  minutes  later  she  had  returned  to  the 
hotel.  The  quick  walk  had  brought  the  colour 
to  her  cheeks,  the  brightness  to  her  eyes.  She 
never  looked  more  beautiful  than  when  she  re- 
moved her  hat  and  stared  at  her  own  reflection  in 
the  long  pier-glass.  Tumbling  masses  of  brown 
hair  above  her  white  forehead,  the  strong  marking 
of  eyebrows,  the  curl  of  her  lashes,  the  deep 

220 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

shadows  beneath  her  eyes  —  these  were  the  dis- 
tinctive marks  of  her  most  uncommonly  attractive 
,  face. 

And,  as  she  looked,  she  came  slowly,  definitely, 
to  a  great  resolution. 

"  He  thought  me  beautiful,"  she  repeated ;  "  at 
any  cost  he  shall  believe  me  truthful.  I  will 
leave  him  no  false  illusions.  '  I  'm  a  coward,'  he 
confessed  to  his  own  cowardice  once.  Now,  I  '11 
be  brave,  go  back,  and  tell  him." 

It  was  late  when  Douchka  walked  into  Julian 
Carrender's  sitting-room  next  day  —  it  was  nearly 
midnight,  indeed,  before  the  train  had  arrived. 

The  concierge  had  gone  to  bed.  By  chance 
she  met  no  one,  though  for  any  astonishment 
displayed  she  had  steeled  herself  with  a  greeting 
in  reserve.  She  did  not  expect  Julian  to  have 
returned  from  the  Cercle  —  he  would  probably 
be  there  till  the  small  hours  of  the  morning. 
She  would  simply  wait.  But  when  she  opened 
the  door,  he  stood  before  her,  right  in  the  middle 
of  the  room,  as  if  he  had  been  pacing  it. 

He  had  not  changed  his   clothes  for  the  eve- 

221 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

ning,  but  his  face  was  changed  —  in  so  short  a 
time  —  oddly,  pitifully. 

He  saw  her,  and  smiled,  looking  paler  than 
ever  then. 

"  Ah,  Hope,"  he  whispered,  as  if  addressing  a 
vision,  "you've  come  back."  Then  he  bent  for- 
ward by  the  table,  and  his  shoulders  heaved  with 
sobs. 

How  different  this  from  what  she  expected. 
His  cynicism,  his  reproaches,  even  his  surprise, 
all  would  have  been  natural,  but  not  this 
despair. 

She  went  to  him,  and  laid  her  hand  on  his 
head.  She  acquired  complete  self-control  for 
the  moment. 

"  I  ran  away  to  shirk  the  truth  —  I  've  come 
again  to  tell  it." 

He  stood  up  then,  fighting  with  his  emotion. 

"  I  'm  a  fool,"  he  said  ;  "  it  did  n't  seem  to  be 
you  exactly —  only  something  that  would  pre- 
vent it." 

"  Prevent  what  ?  " 

"  The  inevitable,"  he  answered,  putting  his 
hand  in  his  pocket. 

222 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  That  I  dare  n't  live  without  you,  that  —  " 

She  broke  in  hysterically  — 

"  And  I  dare  n't  live  with  you  —  do  you  know 
what  I  am  ?  " 

He  looked  into  her  eyes  steadily. 

"  A  good  woman,"  he  said. 

"  A  good  woman ! "  she  cried.  "  Did  you  think 
I  went  away  because  I  was  so  respectable  that  your 
saying  c  I  care  for  you  '  shocked  me  ?  Did  you 
think  that  ?  I  went  away  because  I  am  bad,  mis- 
erably bad,  and  I  feared  you  would  find  it  out." 

He  did  not  reply,  but  there  was  more  colour 
in  his  face  now  as  he  watched  her. 

"  I  went  to  Paris  —  I  meant  to  go  to  England, 
I  meant  never  to  see  you  again  —  to  let  you  think 
me  foolish,  prudish  if  you  like,  but  at  least  to 
believe  me  pure.  Then  I  was  mad  with  sorrow, 
I  wanted  to  tempt  you ;  light  love  is  so  easy 
when  one  is  beautiful,  but  beyond  all  things  I 
know  that  with  you  it 's  impossible.  Now  I  've 
come  back  because,  though  I  mean  to  put  all 
space  of  time  and  circumstance  between  us  in 
another  hour  or  two,  I  can't  leave  a  lie  behind. 
223 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

I  want  you  to  know  the  truth  ;v  you  shall  carry  me 
in  your  memory  just  as  I  am,  not  as  another  :  "  — 
she  looked  him  full  in  the  face  —  "I  lived  with  a 
man  for  four  years." 

"At  last,"   said   Carrender,   holding    out    his  - 
hands. 

"  For  God's  sake,"  she  moaned,  crouching  at 
his  feet,  "  not  that  —  have  pity  for  me." 

She  had  misunderstood  him  —  he  was  almost 
glad.  He  would  be  so  tender  in  his  explanation. 

"  See,  I  am  a  poor  old  gambler,"  he  said  quiz- 
zically, "  with  hardly  a  shilling  in  the  world  since 
yesterday.  To-morrow  if  you  had  not  come  I 
think  there  would  have  been  nothing — not  even 
me.  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  what 's 
left?" 

"  You  mean  it  was  n't  worth  while  to  come 
back  and  add  to  your  suffering.  I  know  it 's 
selfish  of  me,  but  I  was  obliged  to  do  it." 

"No  that  is  not  the  point — what  are  you 
going  to  do  for  me  ? " 

She  turned  her  lovely  tear-stained  face  to 
his  perplexed. 

"  Marry    me,"    he    said,    breaking    the    little 

224 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

bottle  which  he  took  from  his  pocket,  against  the 
bars  of  the  grate. 

"  Marry  you  ?  "  she  repeated  slowly,  "  marry 
you  ?  Did  n't  you  understand  what  I  said  ?  I  was 
not  the  man's  wife  —  I  —  " 

He  laid  his  hand  on  her  mouth. 

"  I  know,  dear,"  he  said,  "  I  knew  it  all  the 
time." 

"  And  you  would  marry  me  with  my  past?  " 

The  incredulity  of  her  tone  could  not  conceal 
its  joy. 

"  Let  us  bury  your  past,"  he  said.  "  Take  the 
big  stone  of  my  rake's  progress  to  lay  on  it,  and 
we  will  plant  the  grave  with  the  roses  of  our  love. 
God,  what  a  woman  you  are  !  " 

She  needed  no  further  words,  she  let  him 
gather  her  into  his  arms,  she  covered  his  hands 
with  her  kisses. 

"  How  good  you  are  !  Ah,  what  happiness  ! " 

Then  he  told  her  when  and  how  he  had 
known  —  how  after  she  had  gone  he  knew  how 
terribly  he  cared. 

"  I    thought   you    my   chance,"   she   declared, 
explaining  her  line  of  conduct. 
225  15 


THE    GREAT    GOD    CHANCE 

"  You  most  certainly  were  mine." 

"  But  is  n't  that  false  morality  ?  "  she  argued 
presently,  nestling  closer. 

"Ah,  that's  a  thing  to  write  a  book  about  — 
in  real  life  it's  true  worship.  Do  you  believe 
me?" 

"  With  all  my  heart." 

Their  lips  met. 

"  Is  n't  it  strange,"  she  whispered,  "  that  what 
one  thinks  must  be  the  end  is  sometimes  the 
beginning  ?  " 

"  And  there  are  some  beginnings,  pray  heaven," 
he  mused,  "  that  should  have  no  end." 


226 


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